The Changeover free porn video

Note: the author encourages unauthorised reposting, sequels, and blatant plagiarism of this work. THE CHANGEOVER By Wyrdey There are many scholarly theories about the Changeover - why it happened, how it happened. They talk about 'social forces' or 'chemical pollutants' or 'historical inevitability'. None of them are even remotely true. The lunatic fringe have their theories as well - They prefer 'the wrath of god' or 'alien intervention'. They're closer, but still wide of the mark. The truth, strange though it might sound, is this: the universe was created by two different gods. Each one created an intelligent race on Earth - a race made after their own image. The results were similar, incredibly similar, but the slight differences were enough - the two peoples began to war against each other almost immediately. The gods were devastated - It was inevitable that soon one of the races would drive the other to extinction. With the twisted wisdom of the old gods, a solution was devised: the two peoples would be made interdependent - each being only able to reproduce with the aid of the other. This is how the two sexes came to be. This was still not enough, and so a further measure was decided - one race would be forced to submit to the other, who would dominate them. But every fifty thousand years things would change. A member of the dominated race would appear who possessed strange abilities. At the Time of the Changeover they would reverse the roles of the two races. Crazy story, isn't it? What makes me believe it? I am that person. From the beginning of recorded history, men have dominated women in every way - social, financial, political, religious, sexual... As Changer I felt tremendous anger at the eon-long plight of my people, and from a very young age lived in anticipation of the time when I would be allowed to correct that. I love to remember when that time came. I was still a student, renting a room at the Michaelsons' house. They were a nice enough, extremely normal family. Martha, the mother, was a housewife (as were many women at that time). Barry, the father, had a respectable office job (as did almost all men at that time). They had three children: Sam, Michelle, and Jimmy. Sam was what was once considered a normal teenage boy - loud, brash - a high-school quarterback - obsessed with sports, cars - anything loud and muscular. His younger sister, Michelle was equally 'normal' for a girl: quiet, a bit shy, vaguely arty. Jimmy was the youngest - an adorable little kid who just wanted to grow up to be like his brother. I'll admit that one of the reasons that I decided to stay with them was because it would let me observe some of my handiwork up close. As the time approached, I became more and more excited. I could feel powers beginning to awake in me infinitely greater than anything that would normally be allowed to a mortal. On the night of the beginning of Changeover, I performed the relevant rituals, feeling my strength growing and growing. At the stroke of the midnight when our long ordeal finally ended, I felt such an explosion of power deep within me that I lay unconscious for more than three hours. When I awoke, I knew that I possessed the immense abilities of a Changer. To be honest, whoever put the world the way that it used to be wasn't quite as thorough as he could have been - even at the worst of times, women were still free in many ways. To be even more honest, I wasn't feeling quite so generous. That first night, I was not yet used to my powers, but I still wanted to send out a clear signal that things were changing... The next morning, the men of the world awoke to a surprise. As they got out of bed, many fell flat on their faces. Their feet looked different - smaller, more delicate - and stretched out like a ballerina's. With a force of effort they could flatten against the floor them for a few minutes, but soon the burning just became too much and they would have to go back to tippy-toes. And I'd given them another little surprise... Pyjama pants and boxer shorts were yanked off in agony around the world. Suddenly the feel of pants, or anything even slightly similar, had become utterly intolerable - horribly, undefinably Wrong. By the time that I heard the thuds and yelps of pain coming from inside the Michaelson's bedrooms, the doctors of the world had already been overwhelmed by millions of calls. It was the only subject on the News. Michelle heard about it from the television almost immediately. The broadcast was deliberately reassuring: yes, many millions - at least - were affected, it was believed to be some new disease - apparently otherwise harmless, and authorities were advising that people go about their business as normal until more details came in. By way of a solution to the men's little problem, well, it mentioned the idea that the men had come up with all by themselves. When the curtains were pulled, they revealed men heading off to work or school in sky-high heels and tiny miniskirts. I cannot describe the feeling that the sight of all those hot-shot young professionals and teenage boys prancing unsteadily in their sexy little skirts and stilettos along the pavement gave me. Both boxers and briefs were out - they felt too much like the yucky boy-pants. Men would have to try on those slinky little g-strings and tiny lace panties that they thought were so sexy. At first, the Michaelson men - especially Sam - were very resistant, but that was part of the spell. It all seemed totally humiliating, but the instant that they saw a high heel, a miniskirt, or a slutty little g-string, it would suddenly just seem so right that they wouldn't be able to help sliding into them. Sam, blushing furiously, eventually came down dressed in his sister's prom shoes and her old junior cheerleader skirt - though he'd had to roll the hem up to make it short enough. After my intervention, even a skirt wouldn't feel right to a boy unless it really showed off his cute little ass in a way that would make a stripper blush. The previous afternoon he'd mercilessly teased Michelle about a boy that she liked, and she, smirking, was only too glad to return the favour as she and her mother gave the men lessons on walking in high heels. After a lot of stumbles they eventually seemed to get the idea - though they still seemed uncomfortable. Hardly surprising since their shoes were nowhere near high enough - I'd made it so that a man would never be comfortable unless they were wearing shoes with at least a six-inch heel. Sam blushed even more when his mother explained the importance of demurely crossing your legs while sitting in a skirt - especially one as tiny as his. I spent most of that day just walking around laughing, but then so did most women. Watching how they liked trying to walk in those things for once. Chuckling at the big important men mincing down the street, arms out for support. Squealing and grabbing at their pretty little skirts as a gust of wind shows their frilly g-strings to the world... There were crowds of men around every woman's fashion store. Pantless, or standing on tippy-toes - or both - they were fighting over the highest heels and the shortest skirts. The News was even better. I remember they had a story about a strip- club donating all of its sexy shoes and micro-skirts to unfortunate men. But the embarrassment soon evaporated. When everyone does something it becomes normal almost instantly. Only two days later, Sam was casually slipping into his big new stripper-heels (whoever makes those things became very, very rich) and pleated skirt and teetering off with his similarly attired friends, girls looking at them admiringly. Women had stopped wearing heels and short skirts - firstly because they had given them all away (or sold them off to the highest bidder, there was a lot of profiteering) - but then because they had become men's clothes. Menswear stores were soon packed with the latest in seven-inch heels, microskirts, and frilly g-strings. By this time I was more comfortable with my power and began the Changeover in earnest. My Phase One was fairly straight-forward. The next day, the men of the world awoke to discover that they had lost a few inches of height and much of their muscle mass. The women of the world awoke much taller and stronger. The authorities blamed it on the mysterious disease, saying that it somehow seemed to affect the genders differently - in men it was a wasting disease and in women it somehow caused growth. When, the next morning, the men found that they were even smaller and weaker still, I had to cast some spells to avoid mass panic, and just make the men be embarrassed without becoming hysterical. Women loved it. You were constantly seeing them running down the road, just revelling in their new strength. The numbers in women's football, soccer and basketball teams exploded. Male sports, however, crumbled. Professional teams collapsed when it became clear that their members could barely even throw a ball anymore. After a few injuries as the now-delicate men tried to carry on as if nothing was different, men feeling sporty were forced to try gentler sports like netball instead. Sam was very annoyed. The school team in which he had been a star player had been forced into an indefinite hiatus after everyone had stared wearing heels. He had seemed to take this as a particular blow against his male ego. Sam had always ignored me, obviously preferring his little bimbo girlfriends, but since I had started fixing things he seemed to have a simmering resentment against all women. I later heard from Michelle, talking to her mother before dashing out for football practice, that in the last few days the team had re-opened with female players - including the now-towering Michelle. Clinging to the shreds of his former glory, Sam had tried to join. The amazons now in the team, each one at least a head taller than him, had just laughed down at him. When he made a huge fuss they, winking at one another, had agreed to let him try out. Placing a ball just in front of the goal they had told him that he could join if he kicked it in. Simmering with rage, Sam had slipped out of his sexy shoes and run on tippy-toes towards the ball. His pathetic little kick barely nudged the ball and he had landed face down on the field, legs waving, his big ass wiggling high in the air, his tiny skirt having slipped down to show his frilly little underwear to the world. The girls had been hysterical with laughter. One had taken a picture that was now doing the rounds of the school. The final humiliation for Sam had been that as he slipped his heels back on and tried to slink off the field, tugging at his skirt and blushing, one of the players had called out that with an ass like that he could definitely become a cheerleader - even if he obviously wasn't the athletic type. While I had already accomplished much, there was still a long way to go. Under my command, the changes began to broaden - the men's shoulders began to narrow to match the little toothpicks of their arms, their faces began to soften, they lost all of their extra hair, and their voices began to break. But most galling of all for them, I began to shrink their precious little pee-pees. It was like I putting them through puberty again, backwards. They reacted either by becoming very passive (good), or trying to be supermacho (hilarious). Watching a tiny little man, only a bit over five feet tall and built like a prepubescent schoolgirl, tiny to strut and swagger in his pretty little skirt and big sexy shoes was just too funny for words. The way that they'd get all offended if you didn't take them seriously and try to yell, their voice breaking into a sweet soprano was just SO precious! I miss it now, I really do. But it disappeared soon enough when it came undeniable to even the most stubborn man that, as well as being a foot taller than them, women were now much stronger as well. It took some adjusting. I remember one day Michelle teasingly asked Sam when he was going to try out for the cheerleading team, seeing how he already owned the right skirt. He was so angry that he rushed at her, swinging, but she just laughed and easily blocked all of his blows before putting him in a headlock until he squealed for his mother. The women adjusted better, both to their new strength and height and the men's lack of it. Soon enough they started finding the tiny, helpless little creatures prancing around in tiny skirts and big shoes to be absolutely adorable. Looking around at the tiny little men, with their delicate little bodies, soft faces, and voices that had risen to a cute little soprano, maybe another person would have decided that it was enough. Not me. Men were still in charge of almost everything and, besides, there was still a bit more revenge that I needed to exact. Men have treated women as sex objects for a very long time. My second phase began one night when the entire male population of the world couldn't sleep. They just tossed and turned, somehow knowing exactly what they needed to relax. They all suddenly knew that they would never be able to sleep unless they were wearing the sexiest lingerie that they could find. They tried to fight this strange impulse, but the whole next day they just couldn't stop thinking about lace and silk and satin. Some of them could resist the compulsion that I had placed on them for a while, but eventually they all had to snap and run to the nearest Victoria's Secret and join the crowd of furiously blushing men who were fighting over the silkiest nothings in stock. That was an unprecedented boom day for lingerie makers, as every man in the world rushed to buy sexy panties, garter belts, sheer stockings, camisole tops, teddies, and big, frilly push-up bras. There was a lot of confusion that first night, but once again society adapted (with a bit of help, of course...). Women had gotten used to little boyish men and it soon decided that they looked even cuter dressed in sexy lingerie. Again, women stopped wearing lingerie, it was a guy thing now. The stores did booming business though - they just adjusted their target customers. And then I began my Penultimate Big Change. One day, every man woke up to discover that his hair was suddenly thicker and longer, his face looked a bit cuter, his nipples were all large and sensitive and sitting atop two little doughy lumps, and a suspicious swell of their hips and bums. I had taken them backwards through puberty, now I was going to put them through a different one. I had to cast several spells to avoid mass panic, especially when it became apparent that the change was continuing. Every morning, they were getting bustier, their waists were narrowing waspishly, and their hips and ass were pushing out impressively. Barry cut off as much of Sam and Jimmy's new hair as he could every day, but soon had to give up when it just grew back longer the next morning to compensate. The men were all incredibly self-conscious about their adorable little curves. For the first few days, they all wore baggy tops and crossed their arms constantly in an attempt hide their budding little bosoms. It was pretty futile, I was speeding the change along and by the second day no top could possibly conceal the adorable mounds swaying freely across their delicate little chests. Their dainty little steps had become even more pretty since their hips had begun widening, and many already had bums big enough to begin to peak from the bottom of their tiny skirts. I made their skirts all magically light, so that it would be lifted by even the slightest updraft. On the street, barely a minute would go by without a collective squeak of horror as every man's skirt flew up to reveal his big pretty new bum wrapped in its sexy little thong. Girls would laugh and whistle as the men blushed deep red and tried to mince along faster, one hand firmly pressed to their skirts. The women had been confused initially, but then (with my help) they had begun seeing these latest developments as incredibly sexy. I made them at least as crazy for tits and asses as the boys had ever been. But the men's changes extended beyond the physical. Jimmy reacted first, as children will. After sitting for a while one morning with an odd expression on his little face, he suddenly announced that he wanted ballet classes. He didn't seem to know what ballet was, but if anyone tried to talk him out of it, he would just get that strange look and say that he had to take them. I saw him just before he went off to his first lesson, wearing the little outfit that he had specially picked out. It was the most gorgeous tiny pink tutu that I have ever seen, with fluffy little frills everywhere and an enormous bow around the waist. He kept glancing down at himself strangely. A few weeks later everyone was busy so I offered to drive him to class. I dropped him off in a class filled with little boys dressed in the same exact costume along with matching tights and pretty little slippers, their long hair all tied up into a adorable little bob. They all had oddly bemused expressions on their faces as they were taught to step and kick and dance prettily. But soon the older ones started feeling it too. I watched Sam one evening as he tried to play a video game. His long hair, now more than halfway down his back, was tied up in one of the ponytails that all of the boys were sporting. He was frowning and looking oddly distracted, as if there was something that he couldn't quite get off his mind. He finally sighed heavily, turned off the console and ran from the room, hair flying, unable resist his strange compulsion any more. I saw him later in the living room. He was practicing cross-stitching, looking down at his careful needlework with a faintly puzzled expression, like he wasn't sure why he was doing it. Barry began to cook madly, producing incredible meals and the most delectable little snacks. When Martha delightedly commented that she didn't know that he could cook, he just gazed off into space in a slightly perplexed way. Despite their best efforts, they were all changing. You could see the evidence everywhere. Walking down the street, you would see men, deep in conversation, suddenly giggle and gushingly blurt out "I should be seen and not heard!" or "a man's place is in the kitchen!" or just coquettishly ask if they looked pretty. They would always immediately gasp in confusion, blush, and apologise profusely. They clearly had no idea why they'd just said such a thing. I did. Then that momentous day came, the one known by countless different names through the world, but generally known (with suspicious accuracy) as the Changeover. On that morning, the world's men awoke to discover their incredibly curvaceous bodies spilling from their sexy lingerie. They giggled in delight at their amazing new shape and decided to go and buy some pretty clothes that would show it off better. Not a single man showed up for work anywhere. The smattering of female government officials that there were in those days declared an emergency. It soon enough became clear that the men not only had absolutely no interest in their previous jobs, but that, even more alarmingly, they seemed to remember nothing about them. When CEOs or professors were questioned about their companies or field of expertise, they would just stare blankly, looking slightly puzzled. The highest-ranking female in every government was declared emergency leader and scrambled to stop their country's collapse. When you suddenly knock out a percentage of the workforce as large as men used to occupy, the whole world just grinds to a halt. It was declared that the mystery illness that had had such dramatic effects on the world's men was now somehow affecting their minds. Every female worker was promptly given a massive promotion, but it still wasn't enough. News broadcasts urged all women, for the good of their country, their children, and their men, to report to one of the newly-formed Assignment Centres so that they could placed in a suitable position. Martha left to go to one that first day, Barry lovingly preparing her a little bag lunch in case she got hungry. On the whole, the formation of the all-female government and all-female workforce went incredibly smoothly. True, I may have helped a bit - every woman immediately discovered a remarkable talent and uncanny knowledge of any job that she was placed in. And so, for the first time in many millennia, the world's women prepared to go out to be the breadwinners, leaving their homes in capable hands of the world's pretty new men. On their first day as the homemakers, the men all woke more than an hour early. I was listening from my room as one of the now-familiar compulsions drove them to rise silently from their beds. I could hear the clip-clop of their heels as Barry and Sam both headed for the bathroom. The sound of the shower, the burr of the hairdryer, the hiss of perfume, and the clink of little bottles of product followed as they quietly primped and preened and made themselves pretty. After a long while, the delicate little steps resumed, this time towards the kitchen. I lay in bed and smiled to myself as the wonderful aroma of cooking filled the house. When the footsteps began again, they were slower and more cautious. One pair stopped at my door and, after a meek little knock, it creaked open to reveal Sam holding a beautifully arranged tray. "I have your breakfast, Ma'am" he breathed in his pretty little-girl voice as he teetered into the room. Like all the other men, he looked rather surprised at what he was doing. He was totally dolled up, his long, shining hair arranged into cascading little blonde ringlets held in shape by little combs, and his face sexily made up like a model. He was still wearing the incredibly sexy white lace basque that had become his normal night dress. It had a jaw-droppingly revealing cut, showing off the creamy flesh of his chest and thighs, and was diaphanous enough to make his big saucy nipples plainly visible through the gauzy fabric. I was curious as to how see-through it was lower down, but the view was largely blocked by the tiny little frilly pink apron that he had tied around his waist while cooking. Satin suspenders connected the bodice to the sheer white stockings rising three-quarters of the way up his legs. Big pretty pink bows grew from the bosom of the bodice, the lacy tops of his tights, and from his super-high matching stilettos. Like all of the men's pretty new lingerie, it was now several sizes too small, especially across the bust - his vast, shapely young breasts were spilling sexily from the incredibly low neckline and swaying seductively with his every move. He waited while I sat up, surveying him appreciatively all the while, and then he carefully leant to place the tray across my lap. He was paying too much attention to the tray to notice how close his pretty new breasts came to completely falling out, or my grin as I examined the massive amount of creamy cleavage that he was almost rubbing in my face. He continued leaning, tossing his long gleaming hair back, as he made up my coffee, asking my preferences for cream and sugar, before retreating into the corner and waiting silently for me to finish, his big, perplexed eyes ahead and his dainty hands folded demurely at his waist. I ate slowly, trying to keep from guffawing with delight. Everything was cooked to absolute perfection - I'd made sure that they were all whizzes in the kitchen already. But then, seeing how much time they would now be spending in them, it was only wise of me. I called him back over when I was finished and he collected the tray, giving me another glimpse of his impressive mammary development in the process. He blinked down at me and meekly piped "Glad to be of service, Ma'am" in his pretty little voice before doing a gorgeous little curtsy and turning to leave. His basque looked almost thong-backed the way that his big, creamy bum cheeks bulged from it, pressed even higher in the air by his sky-high heels. His gorgeous ass wiggled mouth-wateringly with his every little delicate step as he minced for the door. He was very nearly a white boy with a booty. The door opened to reveal Barry, dressed in a see-through little teddy, and Jimmy, squeezed adorably into a little frilly pink dress and petticoats. They were swaying past, also laden down with the breakfast trays of the house's other female residents. When the door swung shut and I was alone, I finally broke down into gales of laughter. This was how things should be. Later, I went downstairs to find Martha all dressed up in a suit, ready to go off to her new job as a company executive. Michelle was there too, she had just told her mother that she and her football buddies had decided to go and sign up as volunteer firefighters. Martha was initially unhappy with the idea, but eventually broke down and admitted that her daughter was a woman now and could take care of herself. The three boys just stood submissively in a corner, washing dishes. I had a hard time taking my eyes off Sam's incredible behind. When Martha was leaving, Barry bounced over - he still had a pretty incredible figure - and gave her the special lunch that he had made. He strained up until, smiling, she leant over and kissed him on his big, painted lips. He purred and gazed up in awe of his big, strong, important wife. Sam and Jimmy didn't go to school that day, they said they just wanted to stay home and help with the housework. The government later tried to force boys back into school, but gave up when it was discovered that they were incapable of learning anything not important for being a good homemaker. They had even forgotten almost everything that they had ever learned - they didn't seem to know any more about writing than was needed for shopping lists and sexy little notes or any more mathematics than would be needed to compute a grocery bill. If you tried to teach them, they would just sit there obediently in their adorable little uniforms, backs straight, hands demurely folded in their laps, that now-familiar blank, vaguely puzzled expression on their pretty little faces. Eventually one would lift a shy little hand and, to the murmured approval of the others, timidly ask what this had to do with Boy Stuff like cooking and cleaning. When told that it had nothing to do with homemaking, they would all look puzzled and ask why they needed to know it. It was considered starting up some sort of 'Home Economics' class for boys, but then they discovered that every man already seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of every kind of cooking, cleaning, and sewing. I saw a concerned Martha have the conversation with Sam and Jimmy when they said that they wanted to stay home and learn to be 'good husbands'. When asked why he didn't want to go to school, Sam gazed vacantly, cooing softly and fingering one of his pigtails as he tried to think, he eventually just shrugged and said that school only taught boring Girl Stuff. He beamed with delight when he was allowed to go back to mopping the floor, tying his adorable frilly little apron around his waspish waist as he started. Mind you, it probably didn't help that I had reduced the average male IQ to 50. It was hilarious watching them counting on their delicate little fingers - and losing count - or trying to sound out big words (like 'boat'). Every now and then, you'd see some formerly smart man sulkily staring at a book, twiddling his hair and glaring down at it, as if he could somehow pout it into making sense again. But of course, the scene would only last for a moment before they giggled and tossed the big, boring book aside and flounced off back into the kitchen where they belonged. Men have thought of women as being dumb for a long, long time. Though of course, we weren't. Not like our adorable little pets. The little darlings all lost their driver's licences before long. Pretty soon they were all too dumb to remember where the keys went, let alone anything else. They had to ban men from the roads. It was things like this, as well as a few horror stories on the news about men going on incredible lingerie buying sprees, that prompted the new government to enact legislation requiring every man to have a woman as a Legal Guardian. Their minds had been affected, was the argument, and they needed someone to take care of them. The men didn't care, they lined up prettily to sign their bank balances and legal rights over to their wives or girlfriends or mothers. As long as they had enough money for groceries and lingerie they were happy. Later when the emergency government got around to declaring elections, another problem was discovered. The boys had apparently decided that politics was definitely Girl Stuff. They didn't even know what a vote was, and didn't see the point of having one. After all, Ladies would always know what was best for them. When it was shown that men would always vote for the last party that they heard mentioned - they couldn't remember any others - it was eventually reluctantly decided that men were now a democratic liability. The bill to Take The Vote From Men passed unopposed. The designers of women's fashion always used to be men. It was pretty obvious from what they used to make us wear. I was proud of what my sisters were doing now that things were reversed. Perhaps they just wanted to see how much they could get away with, perhaps they wanted to see how they liked wearing those things, but maybe they just understood what their customers wanted. It was delightful walking past one of the remodelled men's fashion boutiques - all of those boys murmuring in delight as wandered through those piles of baby pink and soft pastel laciness, grabbing excitedly at skirts that were nothing more than a thin belt of see-through pink frills, or cramming themselves into tiny little tops with 'Bimbo!' or 'Squeeze These!' written across the bust in shimmering sequins. Like most women, I loved just standing on a street corner, watching the men go prancing past dressed in the latest fashions. Some stepping extra carefully to try to keep from popping out of those tiny camisole tops, and failing every few steps. Some preferred to wear gorgeous lace push-up bras and g-strings under gauzy little transparent microskirts and matching blouses only closed by a single button just beneath the bosom. A lot liked to go bra-less, jiggling gorgeously under a revealing lacy top. Whatever they wore, their big, round asses and most of their amazing boobs were visible at all times. The new skirts were so short they left their gorgeous bums almost completely bare, wiggling breathtakingly with their every little mincing step. Every few minutes, you would hear a little coo of delight and the men would blush prettily as a slight gust lifted their miniscule skirts or a passerby gave them a whistle. Often both. Groups of girls often went down the streets, pinching or slapping the boy's big, juicy rumps or burying a hand (or face) into their mountainous cleavage. The boys loved it, giggling and bouncing. The ones who already had a big, handsome girlfriend would blow a kiss and keep on wiggling prettily up the street. The ones who weren't taken were more forthright, tittering and dancing for the big ladies, shaking their behinds or doing a little shimmy. A lot of girls started wearing t-shirts with 'Breast Inspector' written across them after everyone realised that, no matter how many times they were told otherwise, boys always took them seriously. It was wonderful to watch them lining up to whip their tops off and obediently thrust their bouncing bare titties out for inspection, looking around with those big, trusting eyes as the girl asked her friends to come and give her a second opinion. But then, maybe they weren't really quite as dumb as all those Boy Jokes suggest: 'What do you call a boy with half a brain? A cannibal'. I think they liked all of the squeezing and rubbing and pinching that followed as everyone 'inspected' them. When the examination finally finished, they always breathed their thanks to the snickering girls and listened attentively but incompehendingly as it was carefully explained to them why the girls needed to confiscate their bra (and, often, their top...) Once or twice I saw a man catch a glimpse of his reflection as he was prancing almost naked down the street. He stopped and looked at himself vaguely. He had that big, blank look in his pretty eyes as he stood with his little head cocked slightly and a finger to his lips - almost as if he was trying to think. For a moment, I almost think I saw some kind of fight appear in his vacant eyes at the thought of having become just a silly little sex object, but it only ever lasted for an instant before he suddenly giggled and decided to put the reflection to better use. Like leaning over and checking that his bouncing cleavage and big, pretty bum was nice and visible. 'Bimbo' is, of course, a Spanish word meaning 'Boy'. Prophetic, really. But some even managed to somehow outdo the others. As I was walking down the street one day, I suddenly recognised one of my ex-boyfriends mincing towards me. I'm surprised that I recognised him, because he looked so incredibly different. He'd been one of the old scores that I'd settled. He had somehow managed to find shoes even higher and harder to walk in than most of the boys had, and his blank, bimboish face was covered in slightly sluttier-than-usual makeup. His figure, astounding by any standards, was positively spilling from the doll-sized cut-off jeans that were wrapped about his big, swaying hips and tiny little see- through blouse tied together tightly under his mammoth bra-less breasts. I never got to know if he recognised me, because at that instant a chorus of whistles started up from a nearby construction site. Gasping in delight, he spun to face the crowds of big, muscular girls rushing to gape at his mouth-watering assets. Giggling with joy, he began to dance for them, flipping his long hair provocatively. As I went around the corner, chuckling to myself, he had taken off his shirt and was swinging it over his head while sending his knockers spinning in opposite directions with little expert wiggles of his hips. I wasn't surprised. Like most of the men on my special list, he would have found himself spending his every free moment over the last few weeks attending exotic dancing lessons or standing naked in front of a mirror practicing erotic poses and learning to pout and flip his hair sexily. Soon the Strip Clubs would re-open and he, just like the others, would wiggle and jiggle down there just as fast as they could to sign up as dancers. How they would love spending the rest of their lives dancing almost naked for big, sweaty girls. Rubbing pretty boobies in their slobbering faces as the crowd fought to shove dollar bills into their little garter belts. I saw him a few years later on the cover of Wanton magazine. He was completely naked as he pouted sexily at the camera, cupping his mountainous bosoms in his delicate little hands. It was good to see that all of his practice in front of the mirror hadn't gone to waste. One afternoon, I came home to find Sam bouncing around and kicking his legs up in the air. When he saw me he stopped dancing and glanced shyly down at his big pink stripper heels. After I smiled at him reassuringly and asked him what he was doing, he, gushing with excitement, told me that he had become a cheerleader for Michelle's team. I pretended to be surprised, but it was to be expected. Like all former jocks, I knew that Sam would have the compulsion to try to become a cheerleader. The day before, he had asked Michelle if he could come with her to practice. Once there, he had gone up to the captain and timidly reminded her of what they had said when he had tried out for the team. The girls all laughed, but before Sam could tearfully run from the field, they had said he would make a great cheerleader. The team had nicely made all of the arrangements for him. Sam proudly showed me his 'special uniform'. The girls had brought him one of the newly-redesigned cheerleader uniforms - a super-revealing little pink thing that would have been considered almost pornographic in the old days. After he squeaked in joy and hugged it, they, grinning amongst themselves, had suggested some 'special changes'. Sam was delighted. Taking his sewing kit from his little handbag, he had obediently lifted the already miniscule skirt up a bit further - especially at the back - so that the girls could see his big, pretty bum better. Sam was so proud of being a cheerleader. He practiced his cheers and steps whenever he had a moment between cleaning and cooking. The cheers had been made simpler, of course, so that boys could remember them, and the cheerleading moves had been toned down so that even boys could do them, weak little things though they were. There were no complaints however - the girls had all thought up a new routine for their boys that included a lot of sexy new moves. Sam was soon a favourite among the cheerleaders. I went to one of his games once (he was obviously incredibly pleased to see me) and it was impressive how much enthusiasm he could put into bouncing and cheering, long blonde pigtails flying, breasts almost bursting free every moment, bare ass wiggling excitedly... He was the team's 'lucky charm' - at the beginning of each game, he would lean by the bleachers, tittering and eagerly jiggling his behind. As the players came running out, each would give it a little pinch, sending Sam into a giggling ecstasy. The cheerleaders, despite all being former jocks, were obviously rather unclear about the rules of the game. They would look around expectantly whenever a goal was kicked, relying on the audience's reaction to tell them if they should cheer or not. Once, after a particularly impressive field goal, the thunderous applause was so loud that even the boy's empty little heads realised that something special had happened. One cheerleader, evidently the boyfriend of the scoring player, ran excitedly out onto the field and leapt at his big yummy girl, wrapping his legs tightly around her waist. For a moment, the player just laughed down at his worshiping little face as he cooed prettily up at her, before leaning down to kiss his big, upturned lips. The crowd cheered even louder as they made out, the player running her hands across his warm little body, and eventually sliding a hand up his tiny little skirt and grabbing shamelessly at his gorgeous ass. I looked across at the few boys in the audience, all obviously there with dates. They just sat there, backs straight, handbags demurely resting on their laps, as they pouted down at their nails in ill- disguised envy. Eventually she put the giggling cheerleader back down and a gave him an affectionate little squeeze on one of his big, bouncing boobies before turning back to the game. The boy just stood for a moment, gazing after her with his big blue eyes, his little pink tongue running unconsciously across his swollen, painted lips, before running happily back to the other cheerleaders, all giggling and bouncing with excitement over the kiss. Afterwards, Sam came up to me and shyly told me how glad he was that I had come, and just looked at me strangely for a second, biting his lip. Sam and I had been spending quite a lot of time together lately - as the oldest boy, it was his job to be the guest's chambermaid. He would always bring me my meals and also came around once a day to tidy things up and make my bed. Once I had been studying when he came in. I saw him looking at the books curiously and had briefly explained what they were about. Of course, he didn't understand any of it - he just stood there in his little apron, blinking his big pretty eyes vacantly and vaguely brushing down a shelf with his big feather duster - but he was nevertheless obviously very impressed that I could understand the incomprehensible Girl Stuff. After a while, Sam began to bring me meals and snacks that he had cooked specially for me. Whenever I walked into a room he seemed to blush and stare at his feet. I began to think that he might have a cute little schoolboy crush on me. My suspicions were confirmed one afternoon when I came home early and overheard Michelle teasing him about me. He just squeaked prettily and eventually called for his father to make her stop. Michelle laughed and strode out on her way to football practice. After she left, I poked my head around the door. Sam was still pouting and blushing furiously as he trotted around the room in his stripper heels, finishing up his dusting. His back was turned and he didn't see me. I just looked at him for a moment: the long, flowing blonde hair with its little pink ribbons, the incredible chest and ass bulging around the adorable little pink lace lingerie that he was wearing beneath his little transparent blouse and microskirt - I knew that I could do a lot worse. Sam had been an adorable little maid during my stay here, but next week I would be leaving to move into the mansion that I could afford with my new executive job. I would need someone to cook and clean for me. My proposal went down very well. Sam was soon the prettiest little blushing groom in the whole world. Our honeymoon fell, by chance, during the last days of the Changeover period. During our wedding night, I made one more little change and the boys soon discovered that they were all totally double-jointed and an expert in every possible means of bringing pleasure. And they wanted to... badly. The things that I got my obedient little blonde sexual genius to do would have been physically impossible even the day before. On the last day of the Changeover, I made the final change. Then, as midnight approached, I stood on the balcony, looking out to sea - my gorgeous, totally submissive little sex slave sleeping happily in the bed behind me. I felt the power evaporating from me and smiled to myself wistfully. It had been fun. It was only a few days before the first boys began menstruating, and barely two weeks before the earliest pregnancies were reported. After fifty thousand years, they would finally once again carry our children. And that's pretty much the story. You probably know me as the multi- billionaire CEO of that company, Sam is still with me - as pretty and obedient a husband and gentle a father as a woman could hope for. He's given me nine children already, but then he certainly does have the hips for it. The world goes on as it always has, and men seem to be enjoying their life of servitude - they certainly giggle enough. Every now and then some loon brings up the old 'Votes for Men' nonsense and gets laughed down - mostly by the men. They know that their big, strong, smart women always know what's best for them. And everyone knows that boys are happiest when they're barefoot and pregnant, their big, pretty titties swollen to bursting with milk. I think we're going to enjoy the next fifty thousand years.