The Great Shift - Summer's End (Part 2) free porn video

Once upon a time, I used to be the type of guy who firmly believed women could never get ready on time because they could never decide what to wear. I mean, what guy hasn't watched any number of sitcoms or romcoms where the husband/boyfriend continually looks at his watch, becoming more and more exasperated and impatient, while his darling dear tries on an entire wardrobe's worth of clothing? No matter how relaxed the dress code of the event they are attending, the woman has to make sure no article of clothing is dismissed without first seeing how she looks in it while standing in front of a full-length mirror. It's hilarious, right? "Dad," Carrie said from the doorway. "You're going to be late. We both are." I sighed and turned away from my reflection to look at my daughter leaning against the frame of my bedroom door. Even after all these months, it was a bit of a surprise to see my forty-year-old wife's form standing with the posture, and pout, of an impatient teenager. Despite being a girl who only celebrated her fifteenth birthday a month before the Great Shift, Carrie's adaptation to suddenly aging multiple decades revealed impressive psychological flexibility. Sure, there were times when I knew the reality of it was hitting her hard. However, she never let it keep her down for long. My thoughts momentarily drifted to the bedroom at the other end of the hall. Unfortunately, not everyone possessed such strength. "I'm sorry, sweetie," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Five more minutes?" She rolled her eyes, another Carrie trait. "Five minutes," she repeated before turning around to head downstairs. As she departed, she called back to me. "Your makeup looks great, by the way." A smile formed on my face as I shook my head and turned back to the mirror. Before this summer, the thought of going through all the hassle of styling my hair, putting on makeup, and having to decide what to wear to work wouldn't have even been on my radar. Up until the moment which upended the entire world, I was perfectly happy being Doug Thomas, male owner of a modest, if profitable, pair of companies. Having worked in the construction business most of my life, I possessed the typical physique that came with years of continuous manual labor. Even after I started my own company, I continued to pitch in beside my guys on the occasional day. Given a choice, I felt sometimes I'd rather swing a hammer than sign mundane paperwork. Over the years, however, my hardened muscles had softened a bit, especially around my gut, while my formerly thick head of brown hair had started to gray and thin out a bit. Ah, the unflattering changes wrought by the march of Father Time. The person who stared back at me now, the one still clad in only a cream-colored bra and panty set, was as far from that burly, forty-eight year old man as one could imagine. Long, copper-colored hair fell down in thick waves down over her bare shoulders. Wide, bright blue eyes, like a Carolina summer sky, sat on either side of a pert little nose that had the tiniest bit of an upturn. The lips beneath were full and sat in a natural pouty shape. In a word, she was gorgeous. The body below wasn't too bad either. Full, perky breasts which almost seemed to defy the pull of gravity, a narrow waist, and curvy hips with plenty of padding in the rear. All of that led down to a pair of long, toned legs and dainty feet with toenails polished a dark pink color. It was the type of figure that would one would have expected to see on a model. Not a general contractor. Three months. Twelve weeks since the Great Shift. It had taken me a while, but I'd finally come to fully embrace my new body. The one that I now thought of when I thought of myself. My guilt about enjoying it had finally passed. For the most part. Of course, it wouldn't have been possible without Carrie's help. Despite dealing with her own change in fortune, she'd finally decided that she had had enough of her father neglecting himself and had dragged me to the local mall one Saturday for what turned out to be a combination intervention and make-over. "Like it or not, Daddy," she said as we stood before the entrance. "You're a girl now." Since then, I'd been more attentive to the manner in which I looked and dressed. The frumpy, gender neutral sweat pants and oversized t-shirts were abandoned for more fashionable attire. While I hadn't quite reached the level of daring to wear the short summer dress, or blue jean miniskirt, Carrie had insisted I buy in public yet, I was agreeable to dressing in modest skirts and the occasional dress. After all, as my loving daughter had pointed out, I was a woman now. A twenty-year old redheaded knockout, to be precise. I couldn't pretend otherwise any longer. That acceptance, deep in my soul, had truly been the start of the process of living with my new normal. The next step to overcome was my hesitation for getting back into the world as a woman. I took it easy at first. Limiting my public appearances to a few additional shopping trips, a visit to the school Carrie and her brother, Joseph, attended for a post-Shift parent/teacher conference, and a couple of dinners out. I tried to tell myself it was because I wasn't sure how people would react to the new me. Of course, Carrie constantly pointed out that pretty much everyone else was in the same boat. After several days of thinking about her comment, I decided it was time to stop shying away from the world. Which meant going back to work. Luckily, my businesses had been profitable enough over the years that a couple of months down time didn't put any undue strain on the company's assets. As a courtesy to my employees, I decided to pay my employees' health and retirement benefits during the shutdown. Some of the guys, mostly those no longer able to perform the work, had emailed let me know they wouldn't be returning when we started up again. Others reassured me their physical changes wouldn't interfere with their ability to perform their jobs. Surprisingly, there were also a few wives who asked if it were possible for them to assume their husbands' positions. They readily acknowledged they would need to go through a training period, but many of them had informed me that they had already been getting some hands-on instructions from their spouses. They just wanted to ask me for some time to get up to speed. I couldn't help but wonder if they'd reciprocated and taught their jobs to their now female husbands. Last week, I contacted everyone I could reach and informed them that Thomas Construction and D.T. Consulting would both be open for normal business today. I promised them all that I would consider every employee and position to do my best to make sure that no one found themselves unemployed. Most of them had replied with gratitude and appreciation for my generosity. Now I just had to figure out what to wear on my first day back. Carrie had helped me pick out a lot of different styles, all of which looked flattering on me. The problem was deciding on the most logical choice for the environment and business. Something told me that the cute gray pencil skirt, the one that really showcased my legs, might be just fine for a day in a consulting office, but not so much on a construction site. After another twenty minutes, during which Carrie called up to say that Joseph was giving her a ride to school, I finally settled on a pair of dark blue jeans paired with a peach-colored blouse. The shirt was cut as to not be too tight around the chest, though it would have taken something far bigger to completely hide my well-developed form. Granted, I wasn't a big fan of the way the jeans wanted to cling to my hips and butt. But if I wanted them to fit around my waist and not hang down longer than my legs, I had to deal with the fact that they were going to highlight my curves. I slipped my feet into a pair of black Safety Girl steel-toed boots, laced them up, then headed downstairs. Before descending, I paused to look at the closed bedroom door closest to the steps. The stillness of the room behind the door was like a small stab in my heart. For a moment, I simply stood there, staring wistfully as I wondered what might have been. Then I drew in a deep breath, used my pinky finger to catch the single tear that had threatened to slide down my cheek, and went down. In the kitchen, Carrie had left a note on the counter, resting beneath a red and black thermos. "Daddy, good luck on your first day back! Love, C." I smiled at the message. My little girl had become just a mature on the inside as she had on the outside. . I poured some steaming coffee into the container, then quickly scarfed down a cream cheese bagel before heading out the front door. The huge pickup truck which had served as my main work vehicle for the previous three years was still parked in the garage. A little voice in the back of my head reminded me, for what was probably the fiftieth time, that I was going to have to get rid of the monstrosity. My new body might have been a bit taller than some other girls, but I still couldn't see over the dash well enough to drive it safely. That left Mel's car as the only logical mode of transportation. I walked over to the dark red SUV and climbed behind the wheel. Before the Great Shift, I felt the interior was a little tight. Now, it fit me perfectly. After one last look at my appearance in the rear view mirror, I started the vehicle and headed out of the neighborhood. The morning news broadcast, a staple of my commutes for years, always found something new to report about the Shift and its aftermath. At first, they focused on the big stuff, like the fact that the President was still missing, and the Vice-President stuck in the body of a former porn star with whom he'd been having an affair. Luckily, the Speaker of the House was a Sevener, one of the seven percent of the population who had remained in their own skin. She was currently the acting president until such time as things could get sorted out enough to hold actual elections. This particular morning, the host of the program was talking about the Church of Shift Resistance. I almost reached over and changed the station. However, curiosity stayed my hand. "So, get this folks, the leaders of the CSR have begun to file motions in court to allow people to sue those with whom they Shifted, should they believe those individuals are engaging in immoral behavior with their former bodies. Apparently these people don't want their former forms to engage in sex, drinking, drugs, or nudity." A throaty chuckle, somewhere between a sigh and a sultry laugh came through the speakers. I remembered the host used to have a voice like a trucker who'd smoked ten packs of unfiltered Camels a day. Now she could have made a fortune as a phone sex operator. "Apparently," she continued, traces of amusement still peppering her words, "this stems from an incident that involved a rather well-endowed, yet completely frigid religious nut in her early twenties who Shifted with her senior citizen neighbor. The newly rejuvenated septuagenarian decided to use her assets as a stripper and escort. The motion, filed yesterday in a Maryland superior court, demands that the woman stop her actions at once and commit herself to the 'values of purity and chastity' adhered to by the body's former owner." Another throaty laugh. "What a whack job, right? Phone lines are open. Call me and tell me what you think about this." I sighed and turned off the radio before the calls to the station started. One of the things the Great Shift did was increase the amount of people who believed in a higher power. The problem was, half of them felt the great shift was a blessing from God. The other half, which comprised a large number of the CSR members, considered their new situation a curse meant to test their faith. I knew it was only a matter of time before things spiraled completely out of control. I turned into the lot of the construction site located on the far side of downtown Richmond, pulling to a stop in front of a white double-wide trailer. I climbed out of the SUV, grabbed my purse off the seat, and headed up the wooden steps to the door. It was already unlocked, indicating someone, most likely Sharon, was already inside. Stepping inside, a blast of cold air roaring from the vents overhead assaulted me, easily cutting through my blouse to send a shiver running through me. The sudden chill brought goosebumps up on my arms and made my nipples harden. They pressed against the thin material of my bra, creating what my guy friends and I used to call "high beams". I made a mental note to turn the thermostat up, and closed the door behind me. Sharon Edderman, who had been my admin assistant for almost ten years, was at her desk, typing away on the computer before her. Until the Shift, she'd been a woman in her late fifties who enjoyed crossword puzzles, Jeopardy, and knitting sweaters for her five cats. Sharon already warned me of what the event had done to her, but I still found myself standing in place, staring in surprise. The girl typing away on the keyboard looked as if she might be ten. Eleven at the most. She had dark brown hair and wide green eyes, and wore a pink sweater with a unicorn on the front beneath a blue-jean jumper. A stack of OSHA manuals, each as thick as a phone book, sat underneath her bottom, providing her with the necessary additional lift for her to reach the keyboard. When she saw me walking toward her, the look on her face went from confused to simple astonishment. "Douglas?" she asked, turning in the gigantic chair to face me. "Is that you?" I nodded, hanging my car keys on the usual peg. "Hey, Sharon." She looked me up and down slowly. "Wow. I knew you had Shifted into a girl, but I thought maybe you meant Carrie. Or maybe one of her friends." I shook my head. "No. This was the girl renting the beach house next door to ours." Sharon nodded. "She got you?" "No. She ended up in Carrie. My mom got my body." "Oh my goodness gracious," she said, covering her mouth with her tiny fingers. It was almost funny to hear such a grandmotherly term come from the mouth of a pre-teen. I arched a brow at her. "Granddaughter, right? Jennifer?" She nodded. "Poor thing ended up in our elderly neighbor, Marcus. She ... hasn't take it well." A frown creased her otherwise cute face. "She had to go to a Care Center for her own safety." I felt a pang in my heart at that news. The Care Centers were established in the weeks following the Shift. Suddenly being thrust into a strange body wasn't easy on anyone. Some folks, though, couldn't cope with the change and took their own lives. Or the lives inhabiting their former bodies. The Centers were designed to provide the necessary psychological, and physiological assistance to help those poor people learn to accept what had happened to them. "What about Melanie and the kids?" Sharon asked, tilting her head to the side. I sighed. "Joseph is a Sevener. Carrie swapped into Mels." "And Melanie?" "She's having a hard time with her changes." I hoped the tone of my voice indicated my desire to not discuss my wife's predicament. I really didn't want to start my first day back at work discussing the angry little boy my beautiful wife had become. Sharon nodded, obviously getting the hint. Then she pointed at the thermostat. "Do you think you could do me a favor before you go out to the yard? I can't reach the controls and it's freaking freezing in here." I laughed, rubbing at my own arms. "I completely agree." I stepped outside and wandered over toward the worksite with a clipboard under one arm and a bright white hardhat under the other. The day was beginning to warm up, driving the chill away from my skin. Running pretty much on autopilot, I rounded the metal fence cordoning the dangerous area from civilians and headed to where I spotted a couple of guys standing around next to a pallet of bricks. The first one to notice me was my foreman, Michael O'Donnell. Mike had been working with me for almost a decade and was, without a doubt, one of the best at his job. On the other hand, he also had a reputation as being a bit of a chauvinist jerk. More than once he was encouraged to tone down his derogatory remarks concerning what he called the "fairer sex". As I neared, his posture took on a more relaxed pose and the smirk on his face shifted into one of confident arrogance. "Hey there, pretty thing," he said, grinning wider as he stepped closer to loom over me. "Something I can help you with?" Before I could tell him to knock it off, he slid one of his huge arms around my shoulders. "My name's Mike." Then his voice lowered to a conspiratory level. "They call me 'Big Mike', if you get my drift." I gaped up at him, absolutely stunned by his brazenness. Seriously? I mean, ninety-seven percent of the world's population had swapped bodies with another person. The majority of them with someone of the opposite sex. Either "Big Mike" didn't bother to think I might have once been a man, or else he didn't care. Regardless, I felt a sharp stab of annoyance at his behavior. "Absolutely no body calls you that, O'Donnell." I said, pushing his arm off my shoulder. Then I couldn't resist cocking my hip to the side the way I'd seen Carrie do a million times. "But as long as we're doing introductions, you can call me 'Boss'." "Nobody calls you that, O'Donnell." The large man jumped a foot backward, eyes widening slightly in the panic of a falling man who just grabbed a lifeline, only to realize that the other end wasn't attached to anything. "Doug?" He asked, blinking a few times. He looked me over again, this time with a good deal less leering. "Sharon told me you were a ... female now. But I sort of expected you and Melanie swapped." "Do I look like Melanie to you?" He shook his head, crimson creeping out of the collar of his flannel shirt. "No ... sir?" I almost asked him if I looked like a 'sir' either. However, I could tell he was trying to recover from just having attempted to flirt with his boss and friend. "Doug will do, Mike." I poked him lightly in the gut with the clipboard. "Just remember that I might look like a calendar girl, I'm still your boss." Then I poked him again. Harder. "And quit staring at my chest. Got it?" His eyes snapped up to mine, the reddish hue across his neck and cheeks deepening. "Yes, sir. I mean, Doug. I promise." Somehow, I doubted he did. I harbored no illusion that Mike, as well as some other guys, would probably be unable to not ogle me. Hell, I ogled this body plenty when someone else was behind the eyes. As long as they weren't overtly blatant about it, I figured I could deal. However, the first guy who wolf-whistled at me was going home with a pink slip. After I went over the day's assignments, a couple of the guys hung around, rather than going straight to work. I smiled at them and gave a little nod, acknowledging that they obviously wanted to speak with me about something. One of them, a giant of a man named Juan, spoke up. "Senior Thomas? We wanted to thank you again for allowing us to keep our husbands' jobs." She swept her arm to indicate the other dozen standing nearby. "We promise you that we will do good work. You will not regret giving us the chance." I smiled up at her, then placed my hand on her beefy arm. The gesture just seemed so natural to do. It was hard not to put myself in her, or his, shoes. At least I'd been able to acclimate to my new form without the worry about a paycheck hanging over my head. God only knew how many people could no longer do the jobs they spent years training for. The Shift itself was an emotional wringer without adding in the threat of poverty. "Of course, Carlotta," I said, remembering Juan's wife's name. "You husband was always one of my best employees. Hard working and honest. How could I not think the love of his life would be any different?" Despite the fact she looked like she could break a two-by-four with her bare hands, Carlotta blushed furiously and looked down at her boots. "That includes all of you," I added. "If any of you has any problems, whether it is with the work itself, or the other members of the crew, you come and see me. Okay?" "Si," Carlotta answered, provoking another round of nods from her companions. "And, Senior Thomas?" "Yes?" "I wanted to tell you that you are a very pretty girl. I am sure you would rather be who you were. I mean, we all would rather that. But I hope you know you could have had it far worse." I swallowed the lump that caught in my throat, my thoughts turning to Melanie. I nodded, blinking away the tears that threatened to come. "Thank you, Carlotta. I appreciate that." A smile formed on her face. "You are welcome." Then she turned around and the three of them walked back over to where Mike was going over the basics of laying brick. According to the report he'd sent me, it seemed that the husbands had spent a couple of weeks teaching their wives how to do construction work. The rest of the day passed in an almost blur. After lunch, I spent the afternoon on the phone with various vendors and clients, assuring them that we were back in business. I also had to deal with a frantic call from the managing director of my consulting firm. James. He asked if I could swing by sometime soon and speak to the staff. Apparently, there were a couple of employees having an issue with their boss looking like a six-year-old boy. I promised James I would come by in the following morning to remind the employees of my zero-tolerance policy for being an ass to their co- workers, especially to those affected by the Shift. Sharon left around five-thirty, muttering aloud that she intended to buy a new chair. Since the book stack had left her with a sore bottom. I told her to order whatever she need to do her job comfortably. Mike swung by a half-hour later, informing me that the rest of the crew were gone, and the worksite locked up. "I don't suppose you want to go grab a beer?" he asked, deliberately not looking at anything other than my face. I laughed softly. "Maybe another time. Carrie's already texted me twice, asking when I'm coming home. I guess she wants to hear about how my first day back went." He nodded. "Sorry about earlier, Boss." "No big deal, Mike. Just remember that the chances are pretty good whatever hot little number catches your eye is probably someone who used to be a guy. Getting hit on, aggressively, but a big guy such as yourself, might freak them out." "Good point. See you tomorrow, Doug." I shook my head, actually hoping Mike would take my warning to heart. He was a good guy, overall. The last thing I wanted was some skittish ShiftFem dousing him with pepper spray because he came on too strong. I got a soda from the office fridge, then went about reviewing and organizing the work order requests which had stacked up in my email over the past several weeks. The Great Shift might have caused a good deal of personal chaos and disorder, but it didn't seem to have had a positive effect on the construction business. New buildings, some of which were to be housing for people who'd been in another country when they were swapped to Richmond, needed to be constructed. As well as another Coping Center, this one just outside the city limits. Not to mention all the jobs that had been in progress, or planned, before the world changed. My phone buzzed, drawing my attention away from the computer screen. It was yet another text from Carrie. I sighed and hit the phone icon next to her name. "Daddy," she said answering on the first ring. "Where are you?" "Still at the office," I said, saving the proposal I had been filing out. "I'm leaving in the next few minutes." "Okay," she said, her voice taking on a more chipper tone. "We'll be waiting for you. Bye." Then the connection went dead. Wait on me? To get home before eating dinner? That was completely not like my children at all. Even before the Great Shift, Carrie and her brother were notorious for eating when they wanted, leaving Mels and I to dine by ourselves most evening. Which, most of the time, made the meal quieter and more romantic. I stopped myself before I could let melancholy take over my thoughts. I turned off the computer, grabbed my purse from where it hung on the hook, and stepped out of the trailer. Just as I started to lock the door behind me, a pair of strong hands came down onto my shoulders, yanking me backward. The cry of surprise caught in my throat as I was dragged down the short flight of wooden steps, and my keys, phone, and purse tumbled onto the ground. My assailant pulled me against him, one arm moving down to encircle my waist, pinning my slender arms. A large hand clamped over my lower face, stifling the scream that finally decided to join the moment. His mouth brushed against my ear, the breath hot and reeking of whiskey. "Not so fast, Doug," a slightly familiar voice said. "You and me are working some overtime tonight." The fear surging through me attempted to override my brain. I managed to fight against it long enough to recognize the speaker. It was Roger Davis, one of my best roofers. My attempts to reach him after the Shift had gone unanswered, leading me to assume he had ended in a position where he either couldn't, or wouldn't, be coming back to work. However, here he was. Drunk and dangerous. I tensed, trying to devise a way to get free from the grip of the man behind me. The number of physical confrontations over the course of my life was low. High school football notwithstanding. However, I'd always been able to count on superior size and strength to end the fights quickly. Unfortunately, as athletic as my new feminine body was, the lithe form lacked the required muscular strength required to break loose from Roger's embrace. All my thrashing did was cause my jean-clad bottom to rub against the front of his crotch. It didn't take long for the effect it was having on him to become apparent to me. "Getting frisky, huh?" Roger laughed maliciously. The arm wrapped around my chest moved up slightly, and a rough hand grabbed my breast through the thin material of my blouse. "You like this, you ball-less slut?" The fingers of the groping hand curled tighter, squeezing roughly, making me cry out against the sweaty palm across my mouth. Why was Roger doing this? In the eight years we'd worked together, he never once came across as the kind of man who could be capable of sexual assault. Additionally, I suddenly remembered that he never went out drinking with any of the other fellows. Not even so much as a beer after a long day. This wasn't Roger. Someone else was living in my roofer's body. Someone drunk. Someone wicked. Someone that knew the old me. My analysis, though, was derailed sharply when he released my breast, and tightened his arm around me again, easily lifting me off the ground. I kicked my legs back and forth wildly, but only managed to connect with a few glancing blows. He half-carried, half-dragged me back up the steps to the door of the trailer. For a moment, he stood there, holding me captive while he attempted to figure out how he was going to get the door open when both of his hands were already occupied. Then, with a growl of frustration, Roger dropped me to the small porch of the trailer and shoved me forcefully against the cool metal next to the door. The hand over my mouth slid away, but before I could take advantage of this fact, his mouth was next to my ear again. "This is going to happen, Dougie. Nothing's going to stop it. But if you fucking scream, I'll break your neck when I'm done. Got it?" My heart hammered in my chest, and I found myself nodding slowly. Was this really going to happen? What could I do to stop it? How badly was he going to hurt me? A thousand possible scenarios blasted through my thoughts. None of them with happy endings. I closed my eyes, cursing myself for not having had enough foresight to anticipate something like this. Melanie had warned me about the dangers of being a pretty girl in a world full of men with no self-control. "You might not fancy men, Doug," she'd sneered from her spot on the bathroom counter, those beady little eyes full of jealousy boring into me. "But they'll certainly fancy you. Think about all the men out there who used to be old and infirm. Now they've got these young, virile bodies. Bodies that come with powerful urges." A small laugh came from her pudgy face. "Urges you're now more than qualified to fulfill." The door of the trailer opened, and Roger shoved me inside, practically flinging me across the threshold. I stumbled forward, my knee striking the corner of a file cabinet, before I collapsed face-first on the large couch placed against the far wall. The door slammed shut with a bang, then the sound of heavy boots on the tile floor came closer. I turned around, looking up at the leering face of my employee. "Please don't do this," I pleaded, tears beginning to run down my face. My pulse slammed in my ears like a rock concert drum solo. "I know you're not Roger, but please don't do this." The huge man, with a long-healed scar running across his chin, smiled. His teeth were white, but slightly uneven. The look in his eyes, however, was one of pure madness. "Not so tough now, are you?" He reached down and grabbed the front of my blouse, hauling me back to my feet where he loomed over me like a monster from my adolescent nightmares. "Where's the grand posturing of yours? That moral superiority? Not going to call me a parasitic degenerate?" Parasitic degenerate? It was as if someone inside my brain finally found the circuit breaker and flipped the switch into the on position. Those two words told me exactly who was staring out from the face only a few inches from my own. Who had taken over the body of one of my friends. "Tyrone." My attacker pulled away a little, eyes widening some. Then his sadistic grin flashed brighter and the look in his eyes went even further down the Crazy Trail. "Oh? You figured it out?" His eyes moved down to where his hands were gripping my shirt. "I supposed I should have realized that you're looking like a dumb slut didn't make it true. How you been, Dougie? It's been, what, two years? You might not have thought about me since then, but I sure as hell have been thinking about you." A level of fear I didn't know I could experience rolled through me. Tyrone Davis was a sociopathic delinquent of the worst order. Roger and his wife, Susan, had tried everything to get him to stop being a terror to everyone around him. But to no avail. A laundry list of doctors and shrinks had proven ineffective. As had nearly any type of punishment. It wasn't until Tyrone, seventeen at the time, broke his mother's arm in three places because she wouldn't give him some money. I'd been the one to finally intercede to help my friend. I convinced Roger to press charges against his own son, resulting in the younger Davis being sent to juvenile lockup for the next several months. Until he'd turned eighteen. After that, he was transferred to the state penal system to serve an additional two years. He should have been occupying a cell at the Powhatan Correctional Center. Instead, he was here in my office, in his father's bigger, stronger body. Paroled by the Great Shift. With almost no effort, he pulled his hands in opposite directions. The buttons holding the front of my blouse closed exploded outwards, zooming across the space between us with a pop-pop-pop sound. Tyrone glanced down at my exposed chest for a moment, before shaking his head in disappointment and looking back up at me. "White? Damn, that's boring as hell." Then he shrugged his shoulders, grinning. "Of course, it doesn't really matter what color you're wearing, since you aren't going to be wearing it much longer." "Where's your father?" I asked. I couldn't stop trembling, knowing what was coming toward me. However, concern for my friend was too much. "In prison? Where you ought to be, you piece of shit?" Great job, Doug. Make the asshole who's planning on raping you even madder. Tyrone laughed. "Hell no. The old fucker Shifted into this stupid bitch at the end of our street. Some whore I knew back in high school." He licked his lips, as if savoring a memory. "Of course, I didn't know her quite as then as I do now. If you know what I mean." The laugh that followed made my bladder clench in desperation. "Listen, Tyrone. Just let me go. I promise I won't say..." One of those massive hands came up to strike me across the face, right along my cheekbone, cutting my words off in mid-sentence. My head snapped back, nearly giving me whiplash, and the world around me dimmed in an alarming manner. The pain that flared out from where I'd been struck seemed impossible. As a new woman, I successfully suffered through three rounds of an extremely agonizing menstrual cycle. Right then, I would have preferred a double uterus hit over the aching waves coming off my face. "I have a promise for you, Doug," he said, grabbing at the front of my jeans. "I promise you're going to regret ever sticking your big tits in my family's business." With a disconcerting level of dexterity, Tyrone managed to one-handedly unfasten and unzip my pants. His fingers slipped beneath the material, calloused digits digging around, grinding against my panty-clad mound. "Stop, Tyrone" I said, trying to sound commanding. Unfortunately, it only came out as a pleading whimper. I had never considered myself to be weak. Physically or emotionally. Even after the Shift, I dealt with my changes, as well as those of my family, with as much bravado and stoicism as I could muster. Breaking under pressure was something I swore I would never have to accept. However, now I faced the very real possibly I was about to be taken, sexually, by force. My strength collapsed under the realization's weight. While I could kick and scream and fight back, there was little I could actually do to save myself from such a larger opponent. I had no experience in fighting that didn't rely on me being simply stronger and more durable than my enemy. Areas in which I was now badly outclassed. He released my blouse to wrap the thick fingers of his other hand around my throat, nearly cutting off my air supply. The sudden threat of asphyxiation made it so it took me several moments before I realized he'd shoved my pants down to my ankles. More exposed flesh shivered and pimpled. Oh god. This was really happening. For the first time since I awoke in Kara's body, I understood what females had dealt with for centuries. As a guy, I thought I could sympathize with their fears and concerns. Now, I realized I never really had a clue. With a snarl, Tyrone spun me around and shoved me against the sofa. My knees impacted the edge of the cushion and folded, leaving me in the horrendous position of being bent over with my nearly bare ass up in the air. I closed my eyes, praying that he wouldn't take too long to finish, be too aggressive, or kill me afterwards. Despite the ice running through my whole body, I noticed my face was burning fiercely. Not just from the spot where he'd hit me. Nor due to the anger I could feel in my heart. No, this was something else. An emotion I easily recognized even while trying to discern the reason why I was experiencing it. Shame. I was about to be violated by a disgusting piece of human trash. Someone who was one of the worst possible people to walk the earth. I had done nothing to warrant this moment. This terrible act being perpetrated. Other than step up to help my friend. Yet, I was the one who felt ashamed. Ashamed that I wasn't more concerned about the perils that accompanied my new circumstances. Ashamed that I had completely blown off Melanie's warning as another of her angry tirades. Ashamed that I hadn't done more to fight back against my attacker. "I gotta warn you, Doug," Tyrone said as the sound of his zipper being lowered rang like church bells in my ears. "Dear old Dad is built a bit bigger than the average bear." "Please." I said again, my burning face buried in the thick cushion. I knew Tyrone wasn't about to stop now. Not when it had gone this far. But I couldn't help begging. The terror at what he was going to do ran around inside my head, dwarfing all coherent thought. Please. I begged internally. Please let it be over quickly. Tyrone's hand clamped down on my shoulder, squeezing painfully. A second later, the fingers of his other hand gripped the top edge of my panties, right next to my left hip. For three long seconds, nothing happened. Part of me foolishly thought perhaps he had changed his mind. That he wasn't actually going to go through with this horror show. Then, without another word, he ripped the flimsy garment from my body with a tearing sound that echoed my soul being torn away. "I would say this won't hurt," he murmured. "But I'd be lying. I promise you it's going to hurt a lot." I moaned, stopping myself from collapsing into a real scream. I sensed him moving closer, putting himself in the proper position to mount me with the maximum amount of force. I squeezed my eyes closed tighter, steeling myself for the agony I knew was coming. Though I was positive the pain wouldn't come close to eclipsing my shame. A sound, like someone dropping a large piece of meat on a cutting board, cut through the noise of my heartbeat in my ears. Tyrone's hand on my shoulder relaxed, then slipped off me completely. Another meaty thud followed. Before I could figure out what was going on, he touched me again. This time, I did scream. Even though I knew he would likely hurt me for doing it. The hand was quickly joined by another. The touch was tender. Cautious. A second later, I felt something being draped over my back. Then the hands pulled me up and turned me around, placing me in a sitting position on the sofa. I pushed the hair out of my face to see Juan kneeling on the floor next to me. Behind him were three of the other workers. All of them wearing expressions the flitted between concern, sympathy, and fury. Tyrone lay on the floor next to my feet, arms and legs splayed wide. His pants were still around his knees, revealing his naked ass. A small crimson puddle stained the floor next to his head. Glancing down, I realized I was wrapped in the throw blanket which normally rested on the back of the sofa. Despite the warmth it reflected back at me, I continued to shiver violently. Juan put his hand on my knee, but when I reflexively jerked, he quickly removed it. I closed my eyes for a second, attempting to regain some semblance of focus. When I opened them again, I saw Juan still kneeling before me. "Carlotta?" She nodded. "Si. You are safe now, Senior Thomas. No one is going to hurt you." I started to look back at Tyrone, but managed to stop myself in time. "What ..." Juan pointed back at one of the other guys standing behind him. The burly bearded man held a large wrench in one hand. I couldn't help but notice the end of it was stained red. "Tracy forgot her toolbelt. We came back to get it and saw the light still on in the trailer. We came in to thank you once more and saw ..." he paused, frowning. "Saw you needed help." My cheeks ignited into a bonfire, making me bury my face in the blankets to hide. "The police are coming, Senior Thomas. They will make sure he doesn't hurt anyone again." I slowly raised my head from the blanket. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I ... I ... tried to fight him off. But ..." "Shhhh," Juan said in a soft, almost cooing voice. "You did nothing wrong. This is not on you. It is on him and him alone. He started to rise, but I reached out to grab his arm. My hand trembled like the San Andreas. "Please don't leave," I said in a voice far smaller than I expected. Juan nodded. He didn't smile, but there was something akin to comfort in his brown eyes. He placed his hand on top of mine, giving me a reassuring squeeze. "Si. We will stay here until the police come. Then, we will take you home."