Wand, Book And Candle, Part 2 free porn video

Wand, Book and Candle, Part 2 By Elliot Reid The magic had altered me. I was no longer fully male. As my girlfriend cycled home, Mom immediately put me to work cleaning up. Denied any private time to explore the changes, I busied myself around the house doing chores. Our brownstone was a tiny place and the slightest clutter made it uninhabitable. I had to tidy and vacuum and rescue stray spiders from corners before they made Mom freak out. I had trouble adjusting to the body Meghan had conjured. The tiny motions and jiggle of my boobs were such a novelty that I was unable to tune them out. I found the bra to be confining, straps biting into my shoulders so I had to adjust myself regularly. Even secured safely behind cotton and lace, my breasts seemed to get in the way of my arms, and I had lost some upper-body strength, which became apparent as I moved furniture about. I found clues that suggested the whole world, the whole of reality, had changed to conform to my new appearance. A photo on the mantelpiece from last year's vacation showed me on the beach, wearing guys' swim shorts and a blue bikini top through which attentive nipples cast tiny shadows. I looked a little freakish. Chores done, I was eventually able to escape from Mom. I retreated to the safety of my room, pleading the need for an early night as I had swim practice the next day. * In the cool of my room I sat on my bed and stared at the wand in my hands, contemplating the power it offered me. My great-grandpa Zeke, rest his soul, had as a young man ridden a B-17 across German skies. As a bombardier he'd taken more than thirty trips over the Reich and by his own account killed a lot of people. Then he returned from the war, got a foreman's job in a factory, joined a union and fought cops on the picket lines. These experiences had given him firm views on the corrupting influence of unearned wealth and power. Just a few years ago, resting in his recliner hooked up to an oxygen tank, he'd told me, in a croaky whisper, that he had no beef with self- made guys. "Those guys who built things from the ground up, they'd worked the shop floor and probably knew how to do your job, or at least how hard it was. I could respect that." Zeke paused. His skin was like paper, almost translucent. "It was their kids who inherited the business I couldn't stand!" he went on. "For them, everything had come easy and they had no idea how tough it was for their employees. They didn't treat us fair." He'd seen this happen more than once: clueless young bucks taking the reins of daddy's firm, whose idea of bold management was to dick with the hired help. Power went to their heads, with predictable consequences. It was a lesson great-grandpa Zeke had impressed on me, the bright hope of the family. "If you get authority or power over others, don't abuse it," he'd wheezed. It was a cliche, but one with a lifetime of experience to affirm its truth. And here I was, with this magic toy that seemed to offer a future of pouting opportunity. How would it tempt me? Would it corrupt me? I took a deep breath, feeling the strange weight on my chest rise and fall. What if I just restricted myself to a little personal gratification? That was not a slippery slope, was it? I stripped to my underwear and looked at myself in the mirror again. There was the smooth-skinned feminine upper half, with the swells of my bust encased in a bra, the nubs of my nipples muscling through the fabric. And then there was my masculine bottom half, narrow-hipped with sinewy legs and too much hair. My head, perched atop an elegant neck, looked too large and the whole effect was of someone who was out of proportion. My eyes flicked back to my boobs and I felt my dick twitch momentarily, but my male parts did nothing for me below the belt. They were too much of a turn-off. After watching my girlfriend peach into a hottie with a wave of a wand, I was eager to see something foxy. Hesitantly, I raised the wand. I spent a moment composing words in my head before I swooshed the stick. "I wish the whole of my body was feminine except for my genitals," I said. I had no idea if that magic would work the way I wanted, but the glyphs on the wand flared into life and then died. Then I waited for the changes to begin. I peered down, seeing no obvious alteration, then I looked back up into the mirror. "Oh my," I said, and my voice seemed to break. My face was definitely not manly any more, but had softened a little, turning more delicate. I clutched at my throat. "What's happening to my voice?" I said out loud. It was now a smooth mezzo-soprano. I hummed for a moment to test the pitch. My voice seemed to crack slightly as it climbed the register. The face in the mirror grew increasingly unfamiliar. It was mine, and yet it was not. Was my hair starting to grow out? Dark strands of hair flopped from my scalp to scratch at my jaw and neck. My hands began to explore up and down as the changes expanded to the rest of my body, tugging parts of me inwards and plumping other parts out. I reached for my ass, which was definitely more buxom than when I'd last looked. I checked the mirror again. The transformation was now almost complete. I looked weird. I was not sure whether I was attractive, but my features were definitely those of a girl, with a peeled-apple complexion and an expression that was shiny and eager. My face was rounder, framed by straight bangs that dropped to cover the ears, but it was founded on a firm jawline. Those were my eyes, to be sure, but had they gotten larger? I had strawberry lips, fine-shaped and not too full. I stretched them into a leopardess smile, feeling out my new facial muscles. My nose appeared slightly bent from the front, though when I turned my head and looked sideways it was straight in profile. My figure was slender, with satiny skin, a tight tummy and shapely legs. But my ass had a bit of heft and my shorts stretched tight across my ample butt. Everything just below the waist seemed to start a bit further away from me than I was used to. This body was a little pear-shaped and I seemed to be full and fleshy in strange places. My boobs didn't look any different from before, but they matched this new physique perfectly. The one thing that was clearly wrong was the bulge in my shorts. My dick was about to 'up periscope', the sight of my girl-body turning me on. I dove a hand down inside my boxers and felt the slick, hard presence of my tool. I'd built a fuck-ton of pent-up frustration from petting Meghan and now the monster in my shorts was demanding a payoff. But first I had to strip. I didn't bother to unhook my bra. I pulled it up off my chest and over my head before hurling it on the floor, my breasts bouncing softly the moment they were freed. I spent a moment toying with them, squishing the pliant flesh with my hands and pushing them together to try and make a cleavage. When I released them they sprung back into place as if fresh-minted, without a hint of sag. Next, I shucked down my shorts to pool at my feet. I stepped out, one hand going straight to my erect member. It was good to hold my old friend again and jerk it. My balls felt tight and hard, as if they were about to explode. My spare hand rose to boob-level and hunted out a cherry nipple, which pricked into rigidity as I worked it with an index finger. Then I licked the finger and worked the saliva around the aureole, making the teat tingle and heat prickle in the flesh behind it. Flicking at the nipple broadcast tender thrills back into my breast and down to my dick, which had hardened into a battering ram. The foreskin was stretched so red and tight around the head that it stung. The tip glistened with pre-cum. I looked in the mirror and all I could see was a naked girly-boy flailing her dick in her palm and teasing a breast. The sight was so arousing that I came almost instantly. My body shuddered, causing my boobs to quake as I surged. I felt my dick pump, shooting a wet mess everywhere. Suddenly I found myself pulling wads of Kleenex from a box on the dresser and dabbing at my hands, skin and even the carpet, wherever my semen had spilled. Damn! I'd had no self-control. I was on such a hair-trigger that I'd shot my load like an overexcited cop in his first gunfight. It was the product of that frustrating afternoon with Meghan. I flopped onto the bed, feeling my breasts puddle on my chest and my dick flop over to dribble the last of my seed across a silken thigh. I was breathing heavily, frustrated at how quick I'd come. Maybe I hadn't used it all up. I wondered if I had something left in the locker. Carefully, I began to fondle my boobs with my hands again, teasing the puffy teats between forefinger and thumb until they were like hard little berries. I couldn't get enough of that erotic sensation. Then I began to stroke my penis, making it stiffen, hot and slick, to attention. Soon I was working the shaft with my right hand while my left played with my new curves, clutching at breasts, waist and the plump acreage of my ass. This time there was no accidental discharge, only a long and careful escalation to a climax. I jerked myself until there was an aching surge from my testicles, and ropes of semen ejected across my flat, feminine belly. A few spots even reached as far as my cleavage. This time I had some tissue to hand to mop up the aftermath, though I couldn't resist dipping a finger in the stuff and tasting the slight saltiness of my own cum. I lay on my bed, wads of Kleenex scrunched around me, panting. I marveled at my sexy transgender body and the marvel of this magic. I'd always thought myself comfortable in my own body, but this feminized form felt so good, so relaxing. An odd contentment was starting to creep over me. I was growing to like this. Once I'd recovered from the exertion I stood up and checked my closets and drawers. As expected, most of my wardrobe was now feminine. It boasted a collection of dresses, skirts, blouses and tight tops. Only the underwear drawers suggested anything different. I saw an assortment of brassieres in one drawer and a mess of male shorts in another. A part of me desperately wanted to play dress-up, but I still hadn't finished checking myself out. I walked back to the mirror to take a long look at my nude form. I took time to stroke my girly hair, to shake my chest and make my perked little titties jiggle. I even jumped up and down once so I could feel my breasts bounce; they tugged sharply on my chest muscles and I vowed not to do that again. Then I turned to admire the fullness of my derriere in the glass reflection, reaching down to clutch my velvety tush. Finally, I turned face-on to see the view ruined by the sight of my ugly dick hanging heavy between my legs. Boy, did it look out of place! I contemplated going all the way; losing the junk and becoming a complete woman. The thought was compelling, opening up whole vistas of possibility. Meghan had wanted me to wear a pair of breasts so as to understand her needs better. It had been a revelation. I now adored my luscious boobs and my girly figure. What if I went the whole nine yards? What would Meghan think? Would it make me a better lover? Walking a mile in a woman's shoes. Understanding the distaff side. Shedding brute masculinity to embrace femininity for a brief time. Would it make Meghan love me more? That thought hung in my mind for a brief moment and was then overwhelmed by a tumble of dirty, illicit thoughts. What was it like to touch a vagina? Could I learn how to pleasure a girl? Could I bypass all that groping and fumbling of the inexperienced teen and learn some real sexual technique? A breathy voice whispered a desire I wanted to hide even from myself: 'What would it be like to dress like a girl?' Still naked, I looked at the trans-person I'd become. It aroused me just to look at myself, though I couldn't figure why. I took a deep breath and grabbed the wand. I'd try this. I was curious to see what happened. "I wish I was completely female," I said out loud, whooshing the wand and making it flare brightly. Moments later I could feel the skin of my dick begin to crawl. The thought of becoming all-woman made my male hormones surge, fighting the effects of the change. As my penis rose to attention I grabbed and started to jerk it. But as I grasped the shaft I realized that it was morphing faster than I could arouse it. It slunk backwards and became smaller in my hand. In moments it had lost its power to be hard, turning flaccid and shrinking to a tiny nub. Beneath my retreating dick my balls pulsed and ached briefly, forcing a gasp out of me. They were unbudding, retracting upwards into my body, robbing me of my manhood. I looked up to the mirror image and saw that my crotch was now almost a vee beneath the spidery puff of pubic hair. There was no sign of a cleft yet, just a wine-stained button of flesh that served as a pee hole. And then I looked around and noticed that my room had changed. It had been magically altered to match my emerging new reality. It was definitely a girl's room, with signs of adolescent pinkness and frilliness sprawled over every surface. I couldn't remember it being there before. On my dresser there was a collection of cosmetics that I had no clue how to use. I opened a drawer full of accessories, to discover jewelry that looked cheap and tacky. I wandered over to the closet, where there were hanging clothes I'd never seen before. There were dresses and tops and skirts, some in exotic fabrics, a pleasant perfume rising from them. Amongst the sneakers and sensible shoes at the bottom of one closet I could see a pair of high-heeled pumps and some stiletto boots. I couldn't fathom why, but the sight of all this fashion made me feel excited, aroused. Returning to the mirror I could see the change was complete. The folds of a vulva between my legs were evidence of that. The absence of a dick felt more profound than I'd anticipated. A hand dropped to absently cup my new pubic mound, then it rose to rub my stomach. "I have a womb now," I thought. I even felt fertile, as if my belly was bubbling with life. I could bear children. That was too weird for words. Now that I was no longer a girly-man, I could properly appraise my body. It was slim, with a nice curve inward at the waist, though pearing out at the hips. My legs were slender and didn't seem particularly long. My upper body was narrow and my B-cup breasts hung neatly from my chest, not too prominently. I thought I looked completely average, not a knockout at all. I still had the lantern-jawed girl face with its slightly off-kilter nose, which I stared at for a while. It was not unattractive and was beginning to grow on me. I could get used to it. But my figure? I'd had a lean athletic body as a guy, but the magic hadn't translated that at all into my girl body. It was as if the wishes had created some kind of median, though with all the bits a little mismatched. I had slim parts, skinny parts and a big ass. I did not look well proportioned. And then there were all the flaws. I could see them now I looked closely. I had fine hairs all over my arms and legs. There were moles and blemishes and a faint tracery of veins beneath the skin of my bosom. It was all solid and real and as far from a centerfold fantasy as you could get. I looked in the mirror and pulled a smile. The girl in the frame lit up. I was definitely getting to like my reflection. I thought that I could use the wand to give me a supermodel's features, maybe even a whole-body makeover. But something in the back of my mind tacked away from that idea. I suddenly became afraid of losing myself in someone else's form. I need to keep a grip on my own identity, even if the only thing I could recognize in that mirror were my eyes. I went to the wall switch and turned out the lights. Now I was standing in twilight where I couldn't see much of myself, only sense my body by touch in the dead-blue gloom. I was in a mood to be naughty but didn't want to watch. My hands gravitated to cup my tits and then massage the hard blobs of my nipples, just as Meghan had taught me. That sent little thrills fizzing up and down inside and ending somewhere between my thighs, where I felt a strange heat build. I was naked and starting to get cold, so I climbed quickly into bed, sliding between the crisp sheets. As the bed warmed me my fingers began to pluck at the pliant flesh on my chest and then slip down to explore the flatness of my stomach. My hands went lower and as I caressed the smooth inside of my thighs with my fingertips, my legs opened, juddering briefly at the sensual response to my touch. As they did so I could feel the lips of my vagina part momentarily, and I was suddenly very aware of the molten space within me. As if unbidden, two fingers of my right hand slid over to my crotch, to brush lightly across my pussy and explore the folds of flesh there. They yielded to my touch and I couldn't feel a lot of sensation. But as my fingers began to explore, I found I was able to peel my labia apart, like the petals of a flower, and feel my way into my mysterious interior. That felt strange, almost as if I was opening myself to the world. The inside of my cootchie had an odd texture. My mind was not wired for feminine arousal so my body's responses were on automatic, out of my conscious control. I shuddered, felt something release inside, and suddenly my vagina was in flood. I let out a whimper. Now I could smell the funk of my own sex as my fingertips dove into my slit, plunging into the moistness. I pulled my digits out to sniff then lick at the slightly saline fluid, then rubbed my fingers together to test the viscosity. A moment later my hand slipped back down and began a fumbling hunt inside my womanhood. I was looking for the tiny button of my clitoris, half-hidden in the valley. The first touch of my clit was an accidental brush of a finger, but the sensation was so intense that my hips bucked involuntarily. My vaginal area pulsed and I felt a buzz from tip to toe that made me gasp. There was something profoundly alien about the experience, about how my body capitulated to a rich tremor of pleasure the moment I touched my new sex. A second, more deliberate, stroke across the nub of flesh made me jerk again. I couldn't handle the thrill and let out a low moan. My third stroke missed, and I realized that a hood of flesh was partially masking the organ. Using my other hand to pull back the hood slightly, I began to work the little cluster of nerve endings, slip-slipping across it, feeling the wetness permeate my inner spaces and overflow. My girl-body writhed, entangling itself in the bedsheets. Now I had a thumb obsessively working the clit while my middle finger slipped deep inside to fill me. I felt it touch the walls of my vagina, triggering a dull throb that wound around my belly and made my boobs seem to swell and tingle. I had a fuzzy warmth in my insides I'd only experienced once before, when I'd snuck a shot of Vodka at a friends' house party. As I delved far inside, I had to switch my other hand to work my clitoris. This left me free to piston my middle finger in and out of my vagina, and I could hear the wet pop and suction noise of my moistness as I jerked it. It was a relaxing, peaceful sensation, very different from the buzz zizzing out from my clit. However, the clitoral sensation was amazing and I could not get enough of the arousal. As I stirred the fleshy pudding I quickly found a sensitive spot at the base of the nubbin that made my hips squirm whenever I tickled it. My shapely limbs quivered, as if beyond my ability to command. I pulled my dripping wet finger out of my crotch and raised it to smear a nipple with my juices. Then I began to work the lubricated teat, creating a warm, excited prickle inside the breast. My chest was heaving and I was only barely aware of the sobbing, piping sounds I was making, like a runaway calliope. All I could feel was a building pressure inside, like I was going to burst. Then I squeezed my legs together, crushing my fingers and clitoris into a tight embrace. Suddenly the orgasm was on top of me. It was a giant rush of emotion that caught me and deposited me like a porpoise on the beach, wracked and gasping for air. Every inch of me felt super- sensitized and as I draped my fingers across my trembling body each casual brush of skin against skin seemed to create a divine afterglow that elicited another tiny sob. I lay immobile, too tuckered out to move. Drained of energy, I let myself wind down, feeling the sexual heat diminish. My boobs, which had felt so pumped up moments ago, seemed to deflate fractionally. Stirring one hand into hesitant motion, I fondled a breast gently as its nipple softened and lost its sensitivity. My clitoris seemed to cease broadcasting pleasure while the wetness below slowly evaporated. My new body did not look super-sexed but it sure felt like it. The sensation of masturbation was so much more passionate and tender than in my male body. It had made me feel emotionally uninhibited, liberated. Why settle for the sharp urges of male sexuality when you could bathe in the sweet sensation of a body like this? After a while I got out of bed and turned on the light. It took a moment for my eyes to readjust before the glare subsided. Then I rummaged in the dresser and pulled out a silk nightdress. Where had that come from? Why did I suddenly have sexy clothing? I slipped it on over my head and let it tumble down my curves. Enough of the afterglow remained from my nocturnal explorations that I felt a thrill as the slick material cascaded across my skin. My nipples hardened again and when I looked down I saw them push through the flimsy fabric. I couldn't stop myself rubbing them through the silk, enjoying the slippery sheerness against the sensuous nubs of flesh. As I came round from the orgasm I wondered whether the magic could enhance this body shape even further, make it more sexy. I thought of the change I'd made to Meghan, gifting her a glamour model's figure. What would that be like to try? Then something else struck me. I was due to go to swim practice at school tomorrow. As a guy I'd made the school swim team. Was I still on it? In this magically altered reality had I made the girl's team instead? A sideways glance in the mirror conformed how average and unathletic I now appeared. A small fear gripped me. I paused for a moment and checked the closet where I'd hung my speed suit. It was an expensive neck-to-ankle costume I wore to give me an edge in competition swimming. As expected, it was not there. Just the strappy shape of a simple girl's one-piece that resembled beachwear more than anything used in racing. Nope, I figured that in this reality I wasn't on the team. But what if I could make myself be on the team? What if I could wish myself a winner? Biting my lip I picked up the wand where I'd deposited it by my bed and held it aloft. "I wish I had the physique of a champion swimmer," I spoke to thin air, giving the stick a flourish. There was a familiar flash and as I put the wand back down I felt pins and needles all over. I rushed back to the mirror. I knew the change would be slow and would take time to manifest, but I was eager so watch the transformation. I looked down to my left shoulder, which had a soft, girly form to it, and began to examine it carefully. Almost instantly I could see a subtle shift, as if the tissue was tightening. I could see muscle begin to define itself beneath. There was a change in the texture of my skin, becoming sleek as a seal's. I checked the right shoulder and the same thing had happened there. In moments I was running my hands all over my body, exploring the transformation through the sheer nightdress. I seemed to be getting firmer and larger everywhere, gaining muscle and mass. My legs appeared to lengthen, becoming more sinewy, with powerful thighs. The only thing that seemed to get smaller was my ass, which shrank back to a pair of toned glutes. As I changed I could feel my body begin to tauten, like it was a violin string being tuned to a fine pitch. Everything about my physique felt tighter, including, I noted, my chest. "No, no, no!" I squealed. I could feel my boobs deflating, and tugged off the nightdress to see. It was like they were unblossoming, shrinking back to hard athletic pectorals with a tiny cone of fat around the nipple. I wanted breasts I could play with, even if they compromised performance. I grabbed the wand again and waved it. "I wish I had bigger breasts. C-cups!" I said the words on the spur of the moment, not thinking of the consequences. There was a flash again and the shrinkage of my bust stopped. Focusing all my attention on my chest as the rest of the changes to my body wound up, I began to massage and squeeze my bosom. I could feel the flesh behind my nipples froth and bubble as the cells multiplied and my chest began to billow outward. My boobs swelled and ripened, filling my hands and then rapidly overflowing them. There was a brief ache in the tips and then my aureoles expanded and grew slightly darker. The nipples seemed to puff even larger as I rubbed them. I could feel a sexual sensation build as I caressed my tits. Then I looked up at the mirror and suddenly saw what I'd become. There was no doubt I was an athlete. I was tall, epic-scaled, like an urban Jane, ready to swing from a vine and carry a man off to my tree house. I seemed to have little fat and fabulous tone all over; broad- shouldered with well-defined, though not bulky, deltoids and biceps. My waist was still slim and flared to well-proportioned hips from which my pelvic bone jutted like wire hangers. My abs had a lot of definition and my butt was flatter than before. My legs had grown longer and looked strong and rangy. Only my breasts seemed incongruous. They were an excess of fat on an Olympic body and hung heavily away from each other, sagging back against my chest. Their nipples were bruise-colored bulls-eyes in large surrounds. My boobs made my slender form look top- heavy and ungainly. My girl-face was still there, the one piece of me that had not been altered. I smiled, a ruby flicker at the joy of my new form. The sensation of this body was so different from before. Where my last form had been padded for comfort, this was tensed and stretched. It felt like being strapped into my own skin. And I had so much strength and energy inside I didn't know what to do with it. I looked like a thoroughbred, built to race, but there was an animal sexuality there too. I felt the heat rise inside and I wanted to play with myself and rock my world, but I had to check something first. I padded back to the closet. My speed suit had returned to its hanger. Or at least, a suit like my old one, cut to fit my new curves. I beamed. I guessed I was back on the swim team. Then I reached down across those rock hard abs to feel my crotch. My fingers whisked past a wiry tangle of pubic hair. That wouldn't do. I bent over to pick up the wand again, noticing how limber I'd become. Then I waved it yet again: "I wish to have no unsightly hair beneath the neckline," I said. I'd picked the words carefully. I could have wished to be shaved, but that was not what I wanted. There was a flash and I waited for the change to set in. Of course the pubic hair didn't fade straight away, but I soon saw it diminish, growing thinner and lighter. Within minutes, all there was left was a covering of down. Where a bushy triangle had existed was now completely nude. I dropped my hand to explore the velvet smoothness. As my fingers brushed over the hood of my clitoris all I could feel was a tense expectation. Now I was desperate to learn what sexual responses came with this frame. I dimmed the lights again and loped back to the warmth of my bed. Once I'd snuggled in I began exploring my bigger boobs, mashing them, caressing them and letting the heat build inside. Then I let my hands wander over my body, feeling out the muscle and enjoying the smoothness of my skin. I opened my legs, tendons twanging, to touch the sleek inner thighs and feel my vulva twitch. And then I dropped a finger to my vagina and began to explore. This was all so different to my previous girl body. My breasts felt more doughy than before, the nipples a fraction less responsive and thrilling. My pussy was tighter and I had real trouble slipping a finger in, even with my legs wide apart. It was as if all the muscles in my legs and abs were tensed there. But then I found my clitoris, engorged and slightly erect, pulled the hood back to expose it, and my world exploded. I felt my body thrash at the first touch. There was this zing that went from my vajayjay up my spine and back down to my toes. What was that? I did it again several times, feeling my sex pulse with pleasure and broadcast tingles of electricity all over. This body was so different from my last one. I didn't have the big moans and sobs of my previous form. Instead I had a series of spasms as shocks went from tip to toe, causing my chest to dance and jog. I noticed my free hand kept making involuntarily clutching motions, at one point squeezing a breast hard until it hurt. This was all coming from clitoral stimulation, since I couldn't get my fingers too deep into my vagina. At one point I had two digits inside and then the buzz from a stroke of my little pink button was so intense that my legs clasped tight and my fingers were stuck in there, locked rigid by the muscle. I had to lay off my clit for a minute until my pussy had relaxed enough that I could spread my legs and pull my half-crushed digits out. Slowly, I began to build up steam again, teasing my clit while my body thrashed about, causing my sinfully delicate nipples to rub against the cotton sheet. When the orgasm came it was as emotional as in my last body, but subtly different. There were no great gasps or moans. No tsunami of tiredness hit. Instead, I felt energized and horny and ready to go again, which I did. The second and third time I came I convulsed, leaving indentations where my free hand gripped a thigh. I couldn't see the marks, but felt them and knew there'd be bruises in the morning. Just then my hands started to cramp and lethargy started to press me into the mattress. I felt I'd better stop and try to rest. The afterglow felt incredible and I just lay in the dark, letting myself down gently by fondling my curves until I fell into a drowse. For a moment I thought I shouldn't sleep, but change back to a guy. But then a genial voice in my head dared me to try a day at school as a girl. I gave in to the voice and allowed myself to drift off. * In the dreamtime the snakes coiled around the world, drawing the waters together. From the shore, feet scrunching in the wet mica sand, I watched the serpents, hundreds of miles high, helix their way towards the heavens, scales outlined in cascades of electric blue. They were reaching for the Moon, mouths agape, to bite it and draw it down. I could see dad standing in front of me on the beach, arms outstretched to the inky sky as if to embrace the great arch of stars and dust that formed the Milky Way. Dad's ponytail was untied and fell in a spread to his shoulders, making an A-frame for his face. I could hear him singing, in a strong baritone: "Goddess of the Moon, Silver Mother, come to full increase, enter now those who seek your inspiration and healing light." I wanted to reach him before it was too late. But late for what? My body felt weird, misshapen, with fleshy padding in unfamiliar places. Running was strange and it took enormous effort to struggle forward, only I didn't appear to be moving at all. As I sprinted in place, my form flowed like quicksilver, my limbs becoming slender and smooth, like a woman's. "Dad!" I shouted, though the words came out muffled as if my ears were stuffed with cotton wool. He opened his eyes and I could see him clearly, head haloed by the waters churning up around the monstrous snakes. "Daughter?" he asked, as if trying to recognize me. I tried shouting again, but couldn't hear myself above the noise of the universe. "They are making the world!" called Dad, with a leonine grin. He looked wild-eyed and happy. "We will be reborn!" And then, just before the blackness enfolded me the glimmering Moon, grasped in the jaws of the snakes, split like an egg and something emerged-- * When I woke up it took a few moments for me to remember that I was now a girl. My hand rose to my face to trace the curve of a different jawline. Then I noticed how satin-smooth my skin felt. My hair was all over the place, and I felt awful; one boob ached from where I'd slept on it. Hauling myself out of bed I couldn't quite get the hang of my new shape, or the way my juicy breasts swung heavily from my chest. I'd only had a few hours in this body and I was a long way from being fully adjusted. But now I was conscious, night-tiredness evaporating, I found myself getting excited again, even horny. This body was intoxicating. I dragged myself to the shower where it was all I could do to stop myself from feeling myself up. Dressing in women's clothing was, I admitted to myself later, a secret thrill. I hunted for underwear through drawers packed with mysterious clothing. I'd worn a B-cup bra yesterday, but my new rack required something larger. I found a cream-colored soft-cup brassiere. It had a pleasant scent, like gardenias. It was quite a performance to hook the thing up at the front, twist it round and then thread each arm through the loops of the straps before hauling it up to embrace my chest. I found myself having to reach into the cups and adjust each boob until it felt comfortable. With a bra pushing my breasts up my chest looked fuller and perkier and I had a definite cleavage. I don't know why I put the bra on before I put on any panties. I just did. Bare-assed, I searched in the panty drawer for something matching but couldn't quite find it. I eventually settled for a pair of briefs with a lustrous finish. It was quite erotic to step into them and slide them up my legs and into place. Unlike male shorts, these seemed to hang from my hips rather than my waist and I was nervous that they'd slip down. It felt weird the way they hugged my sex and my butt. I spent a whole five minutes just staring at myself in the mirror, admiring how they clung to my mons pubis and buns as if spray-painted. Then I remembered I had to get dressed for school. It was too late to reverse course and change back to a guy. I had gone all-in. School had a dress code and I found my wardrobe had the requisite uniform: a black pleated skirt and white blouse, with black cable knit tights and sensible shoes. I slowly figured out the hose and skirt. For the second time in my entire life I buttoned up a blouse. It felt tight up front and creases arrowed towards my boobs. I looked longingly at a pair of high-heeled ankle boots in the bottom of the closet. It was not fair that I couldn't wear them to class. Instead I slipped on the pair of regulation flats. I finished getting ready for school. Makeup was a mystery to me and I didn't even try it. I preferred a face that was scrubbed and plain in appearance. Hair I could just about cope with and some work with a brush detangled the worst of it. I didn't like the scratchiness of my hair, so I found a hairband to pull it back, taking several goes before I put it on right. Finally, I regarded the crisply laundered schoolgirl in the mirror. I couldn't believe that was myself goggling back with startled eyes and blushing cheeks. I looked kinda kissable, though. If I'd still been a boy I'd have wanted to date me. Picking up the wand from my bedside table I looked at it for a moment then dropped it into my bag. I wanted this to hand and my school locker was pretty secure. After a snatched breakfast, Mom drove me to school. That was another weirdness, her treating me as if I'd been her daughter forever. I even had a new name now: 'Scotia'. What a stupid name! It stopped me in my tracks when I first heard it and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself correcting Mom. The ways in which this magic rippled out and changed the world were unsettling. My stomach was knotted with nerves as we pulled up outside the school entrance. I was half afraid the magic would dispel and I'd be left standing in the schoolyard, a guy in girl's clothing, with everyone pointing and laughing. Even when I shook my head and banished the fear, I found myself wondering: how do I behave like a girl? This was completely new territory for me. I had no route map for being feminine. What if I behaved too masculine? Would anyone notice I was a phony? They didn't. Maybe the magic covered my tracks, or maybe everyone in class was simply used to the way I acted. It was strange, though, the way I found myself gravitating away from my normal social circle of guys and towards girls like Sandy, Liz and Tisha, who had usually been distant figures at school. I found myself being really shy when they gossiped to me conversationally, filling in stories about who had been doing what. I was really quiet around Tisha, who I secretly had the hots for, though I'd never told Meghan this. The social environment wasn't helped by the ever-present distraction of my own hot body. The lack of familiarity with this taut, athletic machine I was strapped into made me clumsy. If I'd been born to it I guess I would have been quite graceful, but I kept stumbling like some clown-shoed klutz. I had to concentrate on simple movements like walking until I could get the hang of my new leg length. I had a rangy stride, but trying to walk like a guy only resulted in muscle twangs and colliding knees. Found myself slowing down and adopting a more poised gait, rolling my hips as I strolled, feet turned slightly inwards. I had to focus to keep it up and it looked awkward but felt natural. It took a few hours before my muscle memory was good enough to let my concentration wander. Even something as simple as sitting was both novelty and minefield. My wider pelvis and lack of a dick somehow made it more natural to sit with my knees together. However, sitting in a skirt was strange and I found it kept riding down at the back before I learned to sweep it under my butt as I sat down. My voice was a source of great confusion. Mellow, yet with a slight scratchiness that no amount of throat-clearing could eliminate, it simply did not sound like me. When I talked I became disoriented and lost my thread. Who was speaking? Why did it sound so different from the voice in my mind? It was not MY voice. At least, not yet. Adding to my distraction was my awareness of the sexual signals my body was giving off. I could not forget my breasts for a single moment. They were large enough that I felt self-conscious just walking. I was aware of every jolt and jiggle, and my athletic frame carried itself upright in a posture that seemed to thrust them out ahead of me. I couldn't help notice the guys flicking their eyes to my tits as I bounced past them in the echoey halls. Hell, I couldn't stop staring down at my billowing blouse! I found myself trying to hunch forward to make my bosom less prominent, but this only gave me a backache. I began to wonder whether I should use the magic wand to wish myself a smaller chest. It felt too large, too prone to sweating and in need of regular adjustment, which I had to do surreptitiously when I thought no one was looking. Possibly the most disconcerting thing about this form was its sensuality. Just walking around in women's clothes was arousing. The way the skirt swished against my tights or my arms brushed against my boobs turned me on. I felt hot and flushed all the time. The horny feeling only got worse around other girls and I found myself staring at them and wondering what it would be like to touch them. The novelty of all these changes made it difficult to concentrate and my Literature class turned into a mini disaster with my mind going fugue-blank part way through reading a section of Shakespeare. Old man Leibowitz gave me some curt words and when the bell for lunch went I bundled out of class, red-faced. I felt overwhelmed by my new sensorium. I was finding it difficult to be a girl in public and I wondered whether I could get through the rest of the day. * In need of some emotional support I sought out Meghan in the fug of the school cafeteria, eating at one of the scratched laminated tables well away from the other students. Her face lit up when she saw me. "Hi, Scotia! Howya doing?" she said as I swayed up to the table. This surprised me. How did she recognize me? I'd been through some enormous physical changes since we were last together. "Hey Meghan." I hesitated. I had to ask something. "Have you noticed anything different?" "No. You look the same as last night when I left." Meghan arched an eyebrow. "Have you made any changes with the wand?" It took a moment to process that. The last time Meg had seen me, I'd been a guy with a pair of boobs. Since then I'd fully changed into a woman. Didn't she register that? With a chill I suddenly realized that I'd altered my body after Meghan had gone home. She hadn't been present for those changes. Had reality rewritten itself in her absence so that she didn't register the changes? That would mean that no one remembered I'd ever been a boy; there was no anchor to my past identity. A magic that could mess with people's memories was very dangerous. If someone got hold of the wand and I wasn't there to see it, they could change me without my knowledge! Meghan was still looking at me with curious eyes, so I tried to divert her attention. "Uh, not really. I just did my hair a little differently is all." That sounded unconvincing, so I changed tack. "Look, are you coming over tonight?" I asked, tremulously. "Sure thing, girlfriend." Meghan stopped eating her pasta long enough to give me a megawatt smile. "After you upgraded my bod, I figured I owe you a debt. Maybe it's time you get to third base!" Girlfriend? So did that mean Meghan and I were a same-sex couple? These shifts in reality were giving me vertigo. But all the same I smiled back warmly. "I can't wait," I told Meghan, swallowing hard. She would let me go all the way? But only as a girl? "How are you getting on with the changes I made to you?" I asked her, trying to move the conversation along. "You look hot." Meghan really did look great. She'd been a sexily talented, thinky girl before her transformation. But now she was a knockout with amazing red hair framing her face instead of mousy locks. I leaned back and admired the milky slopes of her flesh, a portion of the glamour model figure I'd given her. "Yeah, well it's great that my sisters hardly say anything." Meghan's sisters had always ragged on her for her looks and boyish lines. It was gentle, teasing stuff, but years of it had rubbed Meghan raw. "Oh, and I got hit on twice today." "What? By who?" A moment of fearful jealousy made my stomach lurch. Having a trophy girlfriend was going to be harder work than expected. "Yeah, Tisha Williams and Suze McKinley both thought they might be able to tempt me away from you. Can you believe that?" "Tish and Suze?" I said. I'd spoken to Tisha earlier in class. She'd been very friendly, though now I thought of it her eyes had seemed to drink me in. Did she prefer girls to boys? It was all I could do to stop myself flushing red. Tisha was very attractive and for a moment I wondered what it would be like to kiss her. I shook my head. This was getting really out of hand. "Yeah, isn't that incredible?" grinned Meg. "I mean, we're like the only 'out' couple in the school. What is it with these bi-curious girls suddenly sniffing around?" "So what did you do?" I said, my curiosity getting the better of me. "I told them I was a one-girl woman," said Meghan, still with a cat- that-ate-the-canary grin. "They aren't prizing me away from you. The attention was nice, though." "Wow," I said, stunned. So Meg and I were openly lesbian in this reality? I looked around. That explained why no other students were sitting near us, the assholes. My mind was reeling. Suddenly, the world thought I was gay, while inhabiting a woman's body. "Look Meghan," I said, "I have swim practice in the last period this afternoon. We can meet back at my place after that." Meghan smiled at this so I leaned over the cafeteria table to kiss her. She leaned in and met my lips. She tasted sweet, like the pasta sauce she'd just eaten. As we broke contact I looked around the cafeteria for a moment. Most of the students were looking away but I caught a few glances in my direction. Only on one face did I see any distain. Meg and I got up and sashayed out, taking care to hold hands. * I went into swim practice feeling nervous as hell. Our school benefitted from sharing an Olympic-sized pool with three other schools in the district. It was a building from the '70s, with miles of brown, antiseptic tiling. The whole place smelled of the sharp tang of chlorine. I had to stop myself going in the boys' changing rooms, hesitating momentarily at the threshold before correcting course. It was really weird tiptoeing in thru the girl's entrance. I was now on a new team and I didn't know the girls that well, though I'd recognized them from the times the boys' team had shared the pool. I'd enjoyed those times, ogling the swim-suited figures by the poolside. The girl's coach was the stern-faced Mrs. Trent, a matronly presence who I'd had very little to do with, but she greeted me as if I'd been on the team forever and told me to get changed pronto. I was suddenly aware I was in a dank changing room full of girls who thought I was a lesbian. I'd caught them in various states of undress and their looks in my direction weren't entirely welcoming. I found myself gazing downwards, trying not to stare at them while they strapped themselves into their swim costumes. I'd briefly glimpsed more female skin than I'd ever seen in one place in my life. Then I glanced across and momentarily caught a glimpse of Tisha Williams in her underwear before looking away and dodging into a changing cubicle. She had been standing there, watching me come in with licky eyes, as if I was something to be devoured. So, Tisha Williams was on the swim team? Well, well. According to Meg, Tisha had made a play for her earlier today. So she was gay, or bi- at least. Excitement grew and for a brief moment I felt flushed and hot. As I undressed I realized my body was responding to a sinful desire, an image of Tisha filling my mind. My teats were hard on my chest and there was a heat between my legs. As I began to pour myself into my skintight speed suit I couldn't stop the bad thoughts or my body's response. It didn't help that looking at my semi-nude form as I hauled the costume up just made me think completely of sex. I'd felt horny much of the day and I was almost crazy with lust. Now the speed suit was hugging every curve and though it tried to crush and flatten my substantial chest, it couldn't conceal the fact that my nipples were prominent little buttons, publicly broadcasting the signal that I was turned on by the presence of Tisha. I wanted her. The wand was in my bag. I took it out and thought for a moment. Then I whispered a wish and waved the wooden dingus. There was a glow, but not a great one. I hoped no-one outside the cubicle had noticed. Then I waved the wand again while quietly mouthing a second wish. Having finished both enchantments, I stowed the wand safe in my bag, packed my hair into a swim cap and grabbed my goggles before stepping out. Most of the other girls were stepping through the showers towards the pool, but there was Tisha, a statuesque figure with coffee skin and brown eyes I could fall into. As I looked at her I could see she was clearly looking me up and down. My God, she was checking me out! She must have noticed my chest, and what the hard little nubs there were telling her! Our eyes locked. I could tell we were both into each other; a force of gravity was drawing us into the same orbit, aligning us to some future collision course. I felt red-faced and looked away, busying myself with packing my bag into a locker before following the rest of the team to the pool. Once in the water I could calm down. This new body of mine just seem to carve a path through the water like a torpedo. I felt like an engine as I stroked my way through the liquid element. There was none of the clumsiness or awkwardness I had felt trying to get used to walking. This body wanted to swim. I seemed to plough past everyone else without really trying. And it quickly became clear from Mrs. Trent's comments that I was the star of the team. Not that this made things easy. The coach seem to treat me harsher than the others and kept pressing me on technique. I had real problems with some strokes because of the size of my bosom. My wish for big tits had compromised my swimming. Though the speed suit was tight over the chest and tried to keep my profile sleek, I could almost feel the miniscule drag of my boobs. I was very conscious of the way my arms touched their sides and my instinctive attempts to prevent this occasionally fouled my stroke. I reckoned that with a flatter chest I'd go even faster. Resting between spells of swimming I could check out the others. Tisha was pretty quick. Nowhere near my pace, but she was third fastest of the rest of the girls, generating a lot of speed from those impressive leg muscles of hers. I knew she was mixed-race and her genes had given her beautiful skin and powerful lines. I found myself staring a lot as she swam. I was trembling as I watched her, and not entirely due to the cold. Once the session was over the other girls hauled themselves out of the water and trooped out with Mrs. Trent, leaving me and Tisha still in the pool, doing some warm-down laps. This was my first wish: that after practice Tisha and I would be left in the pool undisturbed for an hour. If the magic held true, no one would burst in on us. The slops and splashes of the water echoed in the tiled space, making it feel very empty. Without saying a word, Tisha and I congregated near the shallow end, goggles pulled up on our foreheads. There was some kind of unspoken communication going on. I found myself looking into Tisha's enormous, almond-shaped eyes as she gazed back into mine. For a moment there was this strange tension, as if the space between us was heavy and thick. She was within arm's length and I wondered if I should reach out and touch her. The pool water lapped around us, the chlorine tang burned our nostrils and something in the air between us was crackling. It wasn't electric, but a strange energy that made the air pop with hormones and lust. Almost on automatic, my hand reached out to Tisha. I gently brushed her exposed arm and let my fingers slide down her smooth, milk-chocolate skin. Then I pushed myself closer in the water, never taking my eyes off hers. In moments our lips were locked. We were kissing, opening mouths enough to let tongues dart in and out and lap at each other. There was something tea-leaf bitter about the taste of Tisha, but I felt excited and horny as hell, and I crushed my body against hers. My conscience was nagging at me. I was cheating on Meghan! And yet a devil on my shoulder was whispering that I could use the magic wand to unmake this thing, to make everyone forget and wipe it out of history. This wicked knowledge only made me kiss harder. Tisha broke lip contact first, pushed herself away to put space between us and stared searchingly into my eyes. "Not like this," she said. "Someone might see." "They won't," I said. "No one will come in here for at least an hour. Trust me." And then the second wish I'd made in the changing cubicle kicked in. It was a wish that Tisha would trust my word. I'd thought long and hard about this before waving the wand. I was nervous of puppeting Tisha. There was no satisfaction if I magically forced her to desire me. All I wanted was a little nudge to put her at ease, to create a safe environment for us to be close. I'd let nature do the rest. I told myself that this was not an abuse of the power. This was all the mind- manipulation I needed. Tisha nodded, visibly relaxing and seeming to accept what I'd said. I took the opportunity to lean in and kiss her again, a quick peck on the lips that made her eyes widen briefly, then their corners crinkle in delight. We both floated there for a moment, grinning at each other, wondering what the next step was. I noticed her left hand hesitantly reach out beneath the water and felt her fingertips touch my breast. The sensation was such a thrill that I had a sharp intake of breath and my boob seemed leap into the cup of her hand. Encouraged, Tisha began to stroke my chest softly through the fabric of my swim costume. "Let's do it like this," Tisha whispered. I could see what she was suggesting. She wanted to start slow with touches and caresses. In moments our hands were all over each other, exploring. I could feel her fingers begin to search out the contours of my bosom. In the wet my swimsuit was an achingly thin barrier to her touch and her fingertips quested around the softness of my breasts. There was no harsh squeezing, just a gentle play that ended up with her thumbing my nipples hard until they pointed out of the fabric. Each flick seemed to create a sympathetic reaction in my vulva, a slight, pulsing tingle. I did the same to Tisha's chest. I now had enough experience of breastplay to know how to feel out her curves and pleasure them. Her bosom was smaller than mine, but as her breathing deepened in response to the stimulation I could feel it heave and strain at the fabric of her black skintights. The material was slick and sheer to the touch and it felt good as I ran my fingers up and down the grain of the costume, sensing the blackcurrant nubs of her nipples harden as I slowly turned her on. She seemed to melt a little as I let a finger fondle a teat where the aureole would be. There was something thrilling and illicit about the touching. There was also a minor frustration that I could not make contact with her skin. I wished I could pull her costume off, strip her nude and caress her smooth brown flesh. The full-length suit she wore was a torture to me. But I had to take this slowly, at her pace. I didn't want to startle her. I moved in to kiss again and between strokes we explored each other's mouths, tasting each other, tongues tip-tipping each other, wrestling erotically. The heat and excitement in me began to build. Making out with Meghan had been great, but it seemed that Tisha was inviting me to go so much further. Our exploration moved wider. My hands stroked at Tisha's belly, waist and thighs, even reaching round to cup her firm and generous ass, and feel the tops of those big, powerful thighs. She did likewise, questing around my flanks and lightly muscled hardbody. I felt flushed in the face and the heat grow in my loins. Then Tisha found the space between my legs and pressed gently with a fingertip. I nearly fainted. The pressure on my clitoris would have made my knees give out if I'd been standing rather than floating. Instead I just felt an amazing energy zap up and down that made me see stars. Then my hand was fumbling around Tisha's crotch, seeking out her vulva through the sleek swimsuit. A fingertip discovered something that seemed like a cleft and then slipped upward. I must have hit the jackpot because Tisha stiffened a moment and let out a slight moan. I tried that a second time and she shuddered again, her entire body seeming to sigh. Tisha looked into my eyes, her face bright with pleasure. "I want you," she said. I didn't bother to reply. I just nodded. I took a hand to a strap of her suit and pulled it off her shoulder. She made no effort to stop me. As I pulled the second strap off the other shoulder I leaned in to whisper in her ear and tell her how beautiful she was. She inclined her head to kiss me hotly on the neck. At that I grabbed the straps and pulled them right down with a fluid motion. Somehow, Tisha was able to pull her arms up out of the straps. Her suit slid down below her breasts and now they were free: firm little peaks riding high on her chest, buoyed slightly by the water. I could see the dark spot of a mole on one of them. Now with the suit wrapped tightly just below Tisha's bosom, I could touch her smooth flesh and brush across the wide, bruised surrounds of her nipples. Now it was the turn of her boobs to seek out the cups of my hands as she took in liquid breaths of contentment. We were still neck-deep in the water and I dipped beneath the surface for a moment to nuzzle at Tisha's teats and kiss them, before coming back up and kissing her on the mouth again. Tisha tugged at the straps of my costume. I did not resist and let her strip me. There was an unholy tangle of limbs as I pulled my arms out, then a moment of relief as the tight compress of the racing suit on my chest was released and my boobs sprung from squashed flatness into their normal, ripe shape. But Tisha hadn't stopped with that. Now she was trying to unsheathe the rest of my body. I was eager to shed my suit, like a snake sloughing off itchy skin. She had to apply some muscle to haul the fabric down over my ass, and I helped her peel it off my legs. With a few final tugs I was free. I was now nude, except for my swim cap, and feeling a little vulnerable. My costume, an inside-out knot of lycra, floated nearby us as Tisha moved in to start caressing my exposed flesh. Now it was Tisha's turn to whisper how beautiful I was. Strangely, my body, as if out of my conscious control, seemed to respond to this, growing hotter and more sensitive. My nipples were so hard they almost hurt and as Tisha's hands fondled them I let out sharp gasps of surprise at the soreness. When she dipped momentarily beneath the water to latch onto a tit with her lips I couldn't tell where the pain stopped and pleasure began. Tisha splashed back to the surface again. Now her hands were stroking my thighs and belly and descending towards my sex. I was able to recover enough of my wits to stop her and breathe in her ear that I wanted her out of her swimsuit, right now. Suddenly, I was unpeeling her from her costume, exposing her coffee skin and the dark, tangled diamond of hair between her legs. She finally kicked off the suit, sending it floating into orbit near my Speedo. Now we were free to touch each other with no barriers. We were skin-to- skin in the wet, feeling breasts, thighs and tushes. Our kisses were becoming more passionate and excited, and our hands began to drift towards our sexes, exploring the folds of soft flesh there. Tisha somehow found the hood of my clitoris and pulled it up, then with another hand stroked at the small cluster of nerve-endings. It was like a button that made me explode inside and my entire body tensed. I gripped Tisha hard and I think I hurt her slightly. The sensation was so intense I could not stop myself. I tried to gasp out an apology but couldn't, as Tisha, an animal grin on her face, began to work the button, stirring it with a gentle pressure. I closed my eyes and moaned and gripped Tisha even harder, but she wouldn't cease the tiny motion of her fingertips slipping around the small nubbin of flesh. I eventually managed to let out a husky "Stop!" She did and I was able to recover my breath for a moment. I held on to Tisha and looked deep into her eyes, which were returning the gaze, flickering slightly as if trying to read my expression. "Did I hurt you?" I was eventually able to say. "A little," she said. "But it was good to make you happy." At that she hugged me and I embraced her in return. Her body was taut and vibrant and hot against my skin. I needed to give her something back. I broke the hug, looked back into Tisha's eyes and smiled. "Let me repay the favor," I asked her, diving a hand down between her legs. There I felt the petals of her lips and, gently slipping a finger in, I made it glide upward to hunt out her clitoris. Now it was Tisha's turn to gasp and tense in the embrace of the water as I worked her. She didn't grip me as I'd done to her. But her face seemed to crack as if she couldn't keep her emotions from leaking out. Now she was letting in big moans and sobs, which grew until she broke contact, pushing away from my questing fingers, which slipped out of her. "Please stop," she gasped. "Are you okay?" I asked. For a moment I thought I'd done something wrong. But she smiled wanly back. "No, that was wonderful," Tisha admitted, quietly. "I was on fire. But I was beginning to lose myself. I can't do this here. I need a more private and comfortable place." I could have reassured her again and asked her to trust me that we would not be discovered, but suddenly I realized I felt the same. I really wanted somewhere quiet and soft, not trying to fumble clumsily in the cold, tiled confines of the school pool. I nodded at Tish. As if by an unspoken agreement we prepared to get out of the water. First, there was the problem of getting dressed. We were both nude except for our swim caps. With an impish grin Tisha lunged for my dark blue costume. "I wanna wear yours!" She laughed, as she grabbed it. I felt a momentary annoyance and then thought, 'why not'? Tisha had less bosom and more hip than me, but we were about the same height and the suits were designed to stretch. I reached for her costume where it floated on the water. There was some work untangling the thing and turning it outside-in. Without the traction of dry land I had difficulty trying to pull it back on. Racing suits were designed to compress the flesh and were so much tighter than a regular swimsuit. It took some effort but eventually, we were both strapped in, Tisha in my sheer blue suit and I in her sleek black costume. It didn't feel much different from my regular suit, but there was something thrilling about wearing Tisha's Speedo knowing she'd inhabited it not long before. It was as if she was embracing me, touching my private places. Maybe a little clothes swapping would be really sexy. "We should leave now before folks get suspicious," said Tisha, biting her lip with nervousness. I nodded agreement. "We should meet up some time," I said. Tisha gave me a sunny smile. Yes, we'd hook up soon to explore each other some more. We both hauled ourselves out of the pool and padded back to the changing room. I felt hot and horny after making out with Tisha. I was becoming addicted to the touch of another woman. Then I thought about Meghan. She was coming over tonight and had a debt to pay back. My lips creased into a knowing smirk. I was ready to receive payment. * To be continued.