LauraJB

"Stupid witch. Stupid tits. Stupid hormones. Stupid diet," I mutter under my breath as I contort my body into yet another painful yoga pose, sweat dripping down my ample cleavage in rivulets.

It's been three months since this curse was placed upon me. Three months of waking up in a body that used to belong to a man. A body that is now all curves and softness, feminine energy radiating from every pore. The worst part? I can't even control it. My body moves on its own volition, bending and twisting into impossible shapes, following an exercise routine that the witch has programmed into my very being.

I used to be Eric. A strapping young man, all muscles and bravado. I worked out at the gym religiously, the one place where I felt truly in my element. Women were constantly checking me out, their eyes roving over my chiseled abs and bulging biceps. I lapped up the attention like a dog in heat, preening under their appreciative glances.

One fateful day, as I was grunting and straining over a particularly heavy weight, I noticed a woman in the corner doing some light stretching. She had to be the most gorgeous creature I'd ever laid eyes on - all long legs and pert breasts barely contained by her skin-tight sports bra. I couldn't help but let out a catcall, my voice booming over the clank of weights and the hum of treadmills.

"Hey sweetheart, if you want to impress the boys, you've got to work a little harder than that. Maybe try some real weights instead of flailing around like a fish out of water, hmm?"

The woman shot me a withering look but I just smirked, secure in my own masculinity. I continued my set, feeling smug. That's when it happened.

Suddenly, a searing pain ripped through my body, doubling me over. I fell to the floor, my vision blurring. When it cleared, I found myself in this...this woman's body. The same long legs I'd been ogling just moments before were now attached to my own hips, the same pert breasts heaving with panicked breaths. I looked down at myself in shock and horror.

A voice whispered in my mind, the only clue to what was happening. it said. "You have been a boorish, entitled little man for long enough. Now you will learn firsthand what it takes to be a woman. Your body will follow a strict exercise routine to keep those incredible curves in tip-top shape. A healthy diet of kale and quinoa awaits. And every night, you will perform the most intense cardio with the biggest, muscle-brained meathead I can find. Welcome to your new life, honey."

And with that, the voice receded, leaving me alone in my new body, completely at the mercy of the witch's curse. I staggered out of the gym on shaky legs, my new center of gravity throwing me off balance. I couldn't believe it had come to this. Me, Eric, now a fuckin' chick. It was like some kind of sick joke.

But as the days went on and my body refused to obey my commands, contorting and bending and moving with a mind of its own, I had to accept that this was my new reality. I was a woman now, and I would never be able to go back to the man I used to be. The witch's magic saw to that.

In the afternoons, it's Pilates. Oh god, the Pilates. Endless hours of core strengthening and flexibility training. I can feel my body growing stronger, leaner, more balanced. It makes me want to scream, knowing that I did this to myself. If I hadn't been such a cocky asshole, I wouldn't be in this position.

But the worst is the nights. Every evening, my body compels me to the bedroom, where I find myself matched with a new muscular "partner." They're all the same - oafish, grunting, barely able to string two words together. But when the witch's magic takes hold, they transform into rutting beasts, pounding into me with single-minded intensity.

I don't want it. I've never wanted it. But I'm helpless to stop it, my own traitorous body responding with hunger and need. I come again and again, screaming my pleasure to the rafters, as the curse makes me into the perfect little sex kitten for these brainless jocks to use.

I hate it. I hate the witch. I hate my body. I hate my stupid tits that bounce obscenely with every movement. I hate my stupid hormones that make me crave cock like a bitch in heat. I hate this stupid diet that the witch forces me to follow, all greens and grains, nothing that a real man like me would ever eat.

But most of all, I hate that this is my life now. That I'll never again be the strapping man I used to be. That I'm doomed to spend my days contorting my body into impossible shapes and my nights servicing the biggest, dumbest meatheads the witch can scrounge up.

I used to think I was so much better than all those women at the gym. I used to think that they had it so easy, so soft. But now I know the truth. Now I know the strength and discipline it takes. Now I'm learning it the hard way, hour by grueling hour.

And the worst part? My body is thriving on it. I'm more beautiful and sexy than I've ever been, even back when I was a man. But I'd trade it all in a heartbeat to be Eric again. To be the one in control, not the plaything of a vengeful witch.

I slump out of my final pose, my heart pounding and my muscles trembling with exhaustion. I hate this. I hate everything about this. But as much as I rage against it, I know it's futile. The curse is unbreakable. This is my life now.

The sleek, silver luxury car hummed to a stop, not neatly aligned in a visitor spot, but nudged slightly askew before the polished glass entrance of the office building. My fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel, the cool metal of my silver bracelet clicking against the warmer feel of the woven cord one. I didn't have time for finesse. This was purely transactional.

The dihedral doors hissed open, lifting dramatically skyward, pulling back to reveal the glare of the mid-morning sun bouncing off the building’s façade. I swung my legs out, the light fabric of my white halter-neck dress swaying around my knees. It looked effortless, expensive, exactly the kind of thing a man like him would want his wife to wear when dropping by. Every detail, from the subtle, elegant makeup to the simple silver ring on my finger and the small earrings glinting against my blonde hair, was calculated. The persona was ready.

Ignoring the small flight of granite steps leading to the main doors, I walked directly onto the level concrete path, the click-clack of my stilettos echoing slightly. I didn’t just walk; I strutted. With purpose, with a carefully manufactured air of entitlement and slight annoyance.

“Good morning,” I said, channeling my best impression of a slightly spoiled wife needing access to her powerful husband. My voice was smooth, just a touch breathy, the kind of tone that implied my biggest concern was where to lunch. “I need to see Mr. Sterling. It’s important.”

God, I hated being here like this. Playing this part, feeling her judging eyes sweep over me. If only she knew who paid her salary, who was actually responsible for the entire glittering edifice she sat in. I wanted to laugh, loud and brittle, just to shatter the illusion I was so meticulously constructing. And Michael… my ever-so-goofy, ever-so-willing-to-play-along husband. When I got my hands on him, I swear…

The USB stick. That was the only thought cutting through the rising tide of my frustration. The small, innocuous flash drive tucked into the tiny purse slung over my shoulder. It held months of work, the culmination of the latest project, the one that would solidify our position in the market for the next five years. The project I had worked on, late nights fueled by coffee and a burning ambition that hadn’t dimmed, even when everything else felt like it had shifted beneath my feet.

I was the actual CEO. Sterling Tech was my creation, built from a tiny startup in a cramped shared office to this sprawling empire. My name used to be on the door, on the letterhead, on every investor pitch deck. But then came the illness. Something rare, something that doctors still couldn't fully explain, but which had undeniably, bewilderingly, changed… everything. Physically, fundamentally.

While navigating the shock, the confusion, and the sheer absurdity of my new reality, I’d met Michael. He was an engineer I’d hired years ago, brilliant but endearingly chaotic, with a laugh that could disarm a bomb and a complete lack of ego. We’d clicked, a strange, unexpected connection blooming from shared late nights at the office. When the irreversible changes became apparent, when the panic set in about how this would impact the company – a tech world still very much dominated by traditional expectations, even for founders – it was Michael who had come up with the idea.

“Let me be your face,” he’d said, his kind eyes earnest. “Your cover. You still run everything from the background. Black Ops CEO. We’ll make it work.”

And we had. For three years now. He was the public face, the charming, slightly eccentric Mr. Sterling that everyone adored. I pulled the strings from a discreet home office, attending meetings via secure video links under a different name, making the real decisions, driving the innovation. It worked. It was necessary. But sometimes, like today, when Michael forgot something so crucial, something that could derail a major deal, I wanted to throttle him.

The receptionist pursed her lips, pulling me back to the present. “Mr. Sterling is in a very important meeting, madam. With the stakeholders from the Apollo Group. If you would care to wait in the lounge, I can inform his assistant when he is available.”

Her tone was dripping with polite dismissal, a subtle power play from someone who perceived me as a high-maintenance nuisance. My stiletto-clad foot tapped a silent rhythm against the polished lobby floor. Wait? While some subordinate kept giving me that cool, appraising glare? When I needed to get information that I created into a meeting my company was holding? Absolutely not.

I didn’t break eye contact, but a small, knowing smile played on my lips. A smile that suggested I knew more than she ever could. Without a word, I turned and walked towards the elevators, ignoring her sputtered, “Madam, please!”

The elevator doors slid open silently, a gleaming box of brushed steel and soft lighting. I stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. As the car ascended, I caught my reflection in the polished panel – the blonde hair, the simple white dress, the poised, almost serene expression. A perfect façade. The woman inside, simmering with impatience and strategic calculation, was invisible.

The doors opened directly onto the executive floor. Familiar territory. Hauntingly familiar territory. I walked down the hushed corridor, the sound of my heels softer here on the plush carpet. I passed offices where people I had hired, mentored, built this empire alongside, were working. A few looked up, offering a surprised, polite nod to ‘Mrs. Sterling’. I offered a vague, pleasant smile in return. It felt like walking through a ghost town where I was the ghost.

Taking a quick, steadying breath outside the main conference room, I squared my shoulders. Time to make an entrance. Time to be the part.

I pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside. The room was large, dominated by a polished table where seven men sat, deep in discussion, projections on a screen behind them. Michael was at the head of the table, looking the part of the confident tech mogul, despite the faint disarray of his tie. He glanced up, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, then quickly shifting to a practiced warmth.

“Darling!” he exclaimed, rising from his seat. The meeting paused, all eyes turning to me.

I walked deliberately towards him, pasting a bright, slightly apologetic smile on my face. “Michael, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I just remembered you needed something absolutely crucial.”

I reached him, standing on tip-toe, and wrapped my arms around his neck for a kiss. It was designed to look like wifely affection, a public display for his guests. But as our lips met, I whispered against his mouth, low and urgent, “USB. Pocket. Now. Apollo data.”

He squeezed my waist briefly, a signal he understood. As I pulled back, looking suitably flustered but pleased, I deftly slipped the small USB stick from my purse into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. The exchange was seamless, invisible to the eyes watching us.

“There,” I said brightly, adjusting his tie for show. “Wouldn’t want you to forget that, would we?”

Michael chuckled, a light, easy sound. “My forgetful head. Thank you, darling. Always saving the day.” He kissed my cheek. “Gentlemen, my wife, Clara. Excuse the brief interruption.”

“Please, don’t apologize, Mrs. Sterling,” one of the Apollo men said, a portly man with a silver watch. “A pleasure.”

“Pleasure,” I echoed, offering another general smile to the table. My mission was complete.

With a final, lingering look at Michael – a look that was part affection, part warning for making me do this – I turned and began to walk back towards the door. I didn’t rush, maintaining the graceful, slightly airy persona.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your important business,” I said, reaching the doorway. I turned back, offered a final wave to the room, my smile fixed in place, and stepped out, closing the door softly behind me.

As I walked back down the corridor, heading for the elevator, I let the persona drop, piece by piece. The smile faded. My shoulders relaxed slightly. From behind the closed door, I could just hear the murmur of voices resuming, followed by a clear, resonant comment from one of the guests.

“Truly, Sterling, you have it all, don’t you? A brilliant company, booming success… and such a charming, lovely wife.”

"Olivia Sweetheart, can you come down here for a minute? I need you to pose for some pictures for your dad!" Miranda sugary tone belied the madness brewing behind her eyes.

Olivia shuffled down the stairs, blonde locks swaying, her once-boyish figure now feminized and tantalizing. "Huh? Pictures? For Dad? He's still out there working, right? 

Miranda smile never wavered. "Yes, honey. He's been away for so long, and I'm sure he is working very hard. Or fucking some other woman, the filthy cheat…... I want to send him some pictures so he knows what you're up to!" She gestured to the mirror, revealing the surgical transformations and behavioral modifications that had transfigured her step-son into a stunning blonde bimbo.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetie. Your daddy loves blondes.”

 You look great, and it'll make him feel like he's not missing out on everything. Just a few pictures, I promise!"

Olivia smiled, her mind malleable and pliable, embracing her new identity. "Alright... If you think so, Mommy!"

Later that day, Miranda called her husband, her voice dripping with malice. "How did you like the pictures of your son? Doesn't she make for a beautiful girl, albeit a bit dumb and ditzy?"

"I turned your son into a blonde bimbo just like the slut you cheated on me with," she cackled. "I told him this was what you wanted. Your 'daughter' is now nothing more than Daddy's little blonde bimbo girl. You don't want to disappoint him, do you?"

 My heart pounds in my chest as I hear the knock at the door. It was time, my mistress had been planning this for weeks, a big coming out party to show off her best and most creative transformation yet - ME.

I was once a young man, cocky and arrogant, thinking I was God's gift to women. But that all changed the day a mysterious envelope arrived with a single phone number. Curiosity got the better of me and I called it. The sultry female voice on the other end promised me unlimited wealth and women if I would just let her "play with me". Naive fool that I was, I agreed. Little did I know the sick twisted games she had in mind.

The first few weeks were innocent enough - dressing me up in frilly panties, makeup, and heels. But each week the transformations got more and more extreme. Permanent blonde hair extensions, breast implants, a complete reworking of my pretty face. And the latest - a state of the art fake belly implant that would make me look pregnant for life. I was her masterpiece, her crown jewel to show off to her perverted friends.

"Remember, behave tonight or else," my mistress said, giving me a stern look.  She smiled wickedly. I gulped. She owned me now, body and soul.

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down my tight pink maternity dress, the one she had picked out special for tonight. It accentuated my new boobs while putting my swollen belly on full display. I tottered to the door on sky-high heels, the clickity-clack greeting the awaiting guests.

"Oh my, what have we here?" A braying laugh as I opened the door to reveal my old college football buddies. Their jaws dropped at the sight of me. "Well well, if it isn't the star quarterback!" One guffawed. "Looks like you've put on a few pounds, Princess!"

Hot tears of shame stung my eyes but I had to maintain my composure. "Why hello boys," I said in a breathy voice, practiced to sound as feminine as possible. "Won't you come in?" I turned and sashayed inside, making sure to give them a good view of my assets. ` As the night went on, I greeted a parade of my former life - old girlfriends who couldn't believe their eyes. Even a few of her other "projects" were there, their vacant eyes a haunting reminder of what could happen if I misbehaved.

Finally, it was time for the main event. My mistress clinked her glass and the room quieted. "I'd like you all to meet my latest work of art," she purred, gesturing to me. "Aren't you just darling?" She ran a possessive hand over my curves. "But what really impresses is the attention to detail."

With a press of a button, my belly suddenly lurched and rippled. Gasps and laughs erupted as it was clear my tummy was moving of its own accord. "Fully functional," she smirked. "My little mommy-to-be here will be this way forever. Aren't you impressed?"

The room buzzed with shocked amazement and titillated giggles. I stood there, face burning, trying not to focus on the alien sensation of my fake baby "kicking". This was my life now. I was no longer a man but a living sex doll, a plaything for rich perverts.

As the party wound down and I changed out of my uncomfortable heels, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Staring back was the face of a beautiful, very pregnant young woman. The transformation was complete. I was her property now, a sissy incubator for her amusement and pleasure.

With a heavy heart, I realized I had no one to blame but myself. I had signed my life away, just like those other unfortunates. The woman in the mirror seemed to smile sadly back at me.

Emma nervously smoothed down her long sleeve blue bodycon dress, the fabric hugging her curvy figure. She adjusted her black handbag on her shoulder, and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Her long honey blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft waves.

It had been two months since Eric, now Emma, found himself transported to this bizarre parallel universe. In this reality, women and love were viewed entirely differently. The ultimate expression of affection was control and possession. Men showed their devotion by granting their wives a worry-free existence, while women demonstrated their love by surrendering their bodies and minds to their husbands.

When a woman came of age, she was injected with nanites that lay dormant until her wedding day. These microscopic machines could alter her in any way her husband desired - changing her body, wiping away knowledge and memories, even erasing her very identity. Emma had witnessed the extreme and humiliating transformations some women underwent after marriage, reduced to bubbly airheads obsessed with domesticity. She shuddered at the thought.

Emma entered the kitchen, her high heels clicking on the tile. She spotted a note on the counter. "Surprise coming soon! Love, Mark." Her husband's name was scrawled at the bottom. Panic gripped her heart. Had her time finally run out? Would Mark use the nanites to "improve" her like the other husbands did?

The front door opened and Mark strode in, a wide grin on his face. "Honey, I have fantastic news! I've selected a template for you. No more fretting and worrying, my love. You'll be so carefree and focused on being the perfect wife!"

"No, please!" Emma cried, backing away. "I'll try to be better, I swear! Don't-"

But Mark tapped his wrist screen and the nanites hummed to life inside her. Emma's eyes went wide as the machines reshaped her mind, stripping away agency and intellect. Her memories of being Eric, of her old life, melted away like sugar in the rain. Giggles bubbled up in their place and she sidled up to Mark.

"Thank you, darling!" she cooed. "I feel marvelous!"

Weeks passed in a blur of domestic bliss. As she gossiped and tittered with the other housewives, their conversations lewd and dim-witted. Her body had been tweaked - her breasts swollen, her hips and ass plumped up, her skin smooth and unlined. She existed only to serve her husband and look good doing it.

"Are you ready yet?" Called out Liam. He was sitting on the couch, fidgeting with a tie he had put on for the evening. "A bit longer!" Came the muffled reply from behind the door. Liam sighed and stood, walking over to the bathroom. He lightly knocked on the door. "You've been in there for over an hour now. What are you doing?"

"Almost done!" Came the reply. "Just need to get this lipstick on, it's being tricky on the bottom one."

Liam shook his head and headed back to the couch. An hour was an eternity for getting 'ready'. Back in college they would just throw on a tshirt and jeans and head out for beers. Now, with Olivia as his roommate, things had changed. Drastically.

It had started six months ago. Liam had been rooming with his buddy Zach for a year, when one day his friend woke up... different. Instead of his boyish face and slender frame, he awoke to find himself with a woman's body. It had started slowly - breasts growing, hips widening, hair and nails growing longer and softer.

Liam had been shocked, then worried. But mostly he had been so concerned for his friend, who had spiraled into a depression, unable to cope. She had always been masculine, chasing girls and drinking, now she was the opposite sex. Everything felt foreign and strange.

It had taken a lot of effort, but slowly Zach had began to adapt. Now calling herself Olivia, she had embraced her new femininity with the help of her sister. Watching the change hadn't been easy for Liam. He had always just seen Zach as his male friend. Now, he couldn't deny the very female presence she embodied - the soft curves of her hips, the delicate features of her face. He found himself stealing glances, quickly looking away whenever she caught him.

A week ago they had been joking around about being dateless for Valentine's day when Olivia had quipped 'Oh come on Liam, take me out! I'll even wear something pretty!' Liam had found himself agreeing before he could stop himself. Now here he was, waiting for her to get ready, his heart hammering in anticipation.

The bathroom door swung open. Olivia stood there, and Liam nearly choked. She was... stunning. She wore a little red dress, the straps highlighted by her long dark hair. The neckline was a delicate heart, framing her face. Her lips were glossed a deep red, her eyes dramatized with shadow and liner. A heart necklace glinted around her neck.

She did a little twirl, her skirt fanning out. "What do you think? My sister helped me with the look."

"I..." Liam swallowed. "You look... wow. Incredible."

She giggled, crossing over to him in the high heels that made her legs look endless. "I think you mean gorgeous. Thanks."

"Right." He stood, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

Olivia threaded her arm through his and they headed out to the car. Dinner was perfect, conversation flowing easily between them. But it was edged with a new awareness, a tension that hadn't been there before. Liam found himself reaching for her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. She didn't pull away.

Back at the apartment, Olivia kicked off her shoes with a sigh. "That was so fun. Thank you for taking me."

"Anytime." Liam replied, following her inside. She went to the kitchen for water, and something in him made him follow. Standing in the doorway, he watched the way her dress nipped in at her tiny waist.

"I have to say..." She turned, leaning on the counter. "I've noticed you looking. Quite a bit actually."

Liam shuffled. "Oh. Yeah. It's just... you're... amazing. In this dress.

"If it's any consolation, i don't mind ." She quirked a brow. "I think you like what you see."

He huffed a laugh. "Uh yeah, I do. A lot. It's just... weird. You're my best friend, you know? It's Zach. This is..." He waved a hand.

"I get it." She crossed the room, hips swaying. "Believe me, it's been weird for me too. But..."

She was standing in front of him now, a hand on his chest. "I've been hoping you'd make a move. I'm not Zach anymore. I'm Olivia, and I'm a girl. And I..."

Her lips met his then, soft and glossed and perfect. Liam's hands found her waist, pulling her close, kissing her back. She made a sound in the back of her throat, her fingers threading in his hair.

"I know you've wanted this." She breathed. "I have too. I'm not the same person... make me a woman, Liam. Your woman."

He lifted her then, kissing her deeper as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to his room, laying her back on the bed. Their clothes melted away between heated kisses.

When he finally pushed inside her, she gasped, then moaned. "Oh god, Liam..."

He stilled, cupping her face. "You okay?"

"More than. I'm so okay." She grinned, bringing him down for a kiss. "You feel amazing."

He started moving then, and soon they were lost in the throes of passion, him taking her virginity with long, deep strokes. She clutched around him, hands clawing at his back, urging him deeper.

They were both sweating and gasping when he finished, collapsing beside her. She curled into his side, nuzzling his neck. "That was..."

"Incredible." He finished, stroking her hair.

"Mmm yes." She sighed happily, tracing his chest. "You know, you're my first for everything now. Kiss, touch, sex. I'm glad it was you."

Liam grinned, kissing her head. "Me too. I love you, Liv."

"I love you too." She smiled, snuggling closer. "You did an amazing job, making me a woman."

He chuckled, pulling her flush against him as they drifted off. The apartment was quiet now, his once male roommate now his lover, snuggled on his chest.

Inside a lavish mansion a woman called Sofia stands before two servants, the woman's cruel laughter echoed through the foyer as she beheld her conquests.

"Look at you, both, father and son, now nothing more than two little maids' maids in your own house!" Her voice dripped with sadistic glee. "The surgeons have done a fantastic job"

She gestured towards the pair's newfound curvaceous figures, their breasts straining against the tight fabric of their maid uniforms. "Not only have you been feminized, but your race has been altered as well. You are now Latina maids, servants to this very household. And to ensure your compliance, you've each been fitted with a permanent butt plug and remote-controlled vibrator."

The father and son exchanged horror-stricken glances, their accents now laced with a thick, foreign drawl. The English language, once their native tongue, had been surgically excised from their minds, replaced by the rhythms of their new Latina identities.

Sofia's expression turned cold, her eyes hardening with malice. "And if you think this is the worst of it, you're mistaken. You two are now officially declared dead. No trace of your former selves exists. Your identities have been erased, replaced by two immigrant maids.

She paused, savoring the moment. "As for you, maids, you're lucky I don't fire you and let you fend for yourselves on the streets. But I'm a generous mistress, so you'll remain employed here, serving me and my every whim. Understand?"

The father and son nodded meekly, their minds reeling from the shock and betrayal. They were trapped, their old lives extinguished, their new existence nothing more than a twisted game of Sofia's design.

The evil wife turned on her heel, her hips swaying as she descended the grand staircase. "Now, get to work, maids," she called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with disdain. "It's time to dust the parlors and polish the silverware. And remember, any mishaps or disobedience will result in... consequences."

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon as I stepped out onto the balcony of our beach house, a steaming mug of coffee in my hand. The salty sea air filled my lungs as I breathed deeply, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore a soothing soundtrack to my morning. I leaned against the railing, my silk robe fluttering in the gentle breeze, and gazed out at the vast expanse of blue stretching before me.

It had been two years since everything changed. Two years since that fateful surfing competition when I caught an unusual wave and swallowed a mouthful of contaminated water. I still remember the burning sensation as it coursed through my body, the foreign chemicals altering me from the inside out. Within hours, my lean, muscular physique had begun to shift and change. My skin softened, my shoulders narrowed, my hips widened. Breasts swelled beneath my chest, my cock and balls retracting inward to form a tight, hairless slit.

I had woken up in the hospital, disoriented and confused. But there was no denying the truth staring back at me in the mirror - where once a young male surfer had looked out, now stood a stunning woman. The doctors were baffled, assuring me it was a rare mutation, an anomaly. But all I could think about was how my life was over. No more competitions, no more riding the waves that had been my passion. I wanted to die.

I managed a weak smile at the memory. Jake had been my rock through it all. The one constant as my entire world transformed. And now, he was my husband. We had fallen in love over late night talks and lazy beach days, slowly healing my broken spirit. Our bond grew deeper with each passing month until he got down on one knee, his eyes glistening with emotion as he asked me to be his wife.

Of course I said yes. Our wedding had been a beautiful, intimate affair on this very beach. Just close friends and family gathered to celebrate our love. As I walked towards him in a white lace gown, a thrill ran through me, my whole body buzzing with desire. Jake had appreciated my new form from the start, worshipping every inch of my soft skin and dangerous curves. He showed me how sexy I was, how much pleasure this body was capable of.

Now, as his wife, I had discovered a whole new world of sensations. My surfer lungs proved incredibly useful in the bedroom, allowing me to take him as deep as he wanted. Jake would throw his head back and moan as I enveloped him in my hot, slick mouth, sucking him down my throat again and again. The obscene sounds of my slurping and gagging filled the room as I swallowed around his thick cock. He'd tug my hair, fucking my face until he exploded, flooding my throat with his seed. I'd lick my lips, reveling in the taste of him.

It was a different kind of ride, but one I had grown addicted to. Most mornings began with me on my knees, wrapping my lips around his morning wood as he watched the sun rise. My pussy would soak through my panties as he used my mouth, dripping arousal down my thighs. His fingers would slip beneath my negligee to tease my clit, making me writhe and moan around him. I loved pleasuring my husband in every way I could.

A large hand slid around my waist from behind and I grinned, sinking back into Jake's solid chest. "Morning, beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling my neck. I shivered as he kissed and nipped at my sensitive skin, his cock stiffening against my ass. Spinning in his arms, I looped my own around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. "Morning, handsome," I breathed against his lips before claiming his mouth again.

We made love right there on the balcony, not caring who might see. I wanted everyone to know I was his. He hiked up my robe and entered me with one smooth thrust, stretching me open on his thick length. "Fuck, you're always so wet for me," he groaned, starting to move. I just mewled in bliss, folding my legs around his waist as he pounded into my slick heat. The sound of our moans and the wet slap of skin on skin mingled with the waves.

Jake set a relentless pace, grunting with effort as he chased his release. I could feel my own building, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Come on my cock, baby," he panted, "show me how good it feels." With a cry, I shattered, clamping down on him like a vice. That pushed him over the edge and he erupted, flooding my fluttering channel with his cum. We clung to each other, gasping for breath and trembling through the aftershocks.

Eventually, he softened and slipped out, a river of our combined fluids dripping down my thighs. "I love you," I whispered, touching his cheek. "I love you too," he vowed, "no matter what. You're more than enough, Alecia. I'm so fucking lucky." Happy tears pricked at my eyes. He was right, I was lucky. Different, but still me. And I had him.

"Oh Lila dear, there you are," Veronica said with a tight-lipped grin, taking in the surreal sight before her. "Silly girl, you're no longer the strong man who used to work here. Let's get you away from those unsafe tools and machinery."

Veronica had to stifle a laugh at the irony of the situation. A couple months ago, she'd had her husband magically transformed into this stunning young woman, and sometimes his old masculine personality or memories still bubbled up to the surface in humorous ways. There was almost nothing left of the arrogant, chauvinistic man he used to be.

"Come now, let's go inside," Veronica beckoned, leading Lila out of the garage and into the living room. "It's time I started teaching you more about your new role as a woman. Your old self always said us ladies are only good for being submissive, pleasing to the eye, and existing to serve men. None of that sitting at the head of the table or filling the man of the house chair nonsense anymore."

Veronica settled into an armchair and patted her lap. "You're to listen to men now". To wait on them hand and foot after their long days of work. Help them...release stress."

She smiled wickedly as an idea came to her. "I'm sure that strapping young man next door wouldn't mind lending a hand with your training, hmm? We'll have you dolled up and breaking hearts in no time!"

It was supposed to be my big day -my 20th birthday party. Streamers hung from the ceiling, glittery balloons floated about, and a giant banner proclaimed "Happy Birthday!" But I couldn't stop staring down at my hands, slender and soft, painted with French tips. Hands that didn't belong to me.

Second puberty had hit me like a freight train. One day I woke up with morning wood, the next I was writhing in agony as my body reshaped itself into hourglass perfection. Breasts, wide hips, a tiny waist - I had become the ultimate bimbo girl.

I tottered around the living room in stilettos, my tight dress barely containing my new assets. My facial features locked into permanent - plump lips, smoky eyes, and a perpetual pout.

"Look at the tits on her!" my drunk uncle cackled, eyeing my cleavage. "Jared always did have nice pecs. Guess they went to good use!"

"Doesn't she look just like her mother?" my aunt trilled, fluffing my long hair. 

"Tell me about it," my father sighed. "My boy was a star basketball player. Now he's a sexpot. What a waste of potential!"

I bit my glossy lip to hold back tears. They were talking about me right in front of my face, evaluating my body like a slab of meat.

"Well I think she's gorgeous!" my grandmother cooed, clasping my face. "You're going to snag yourself a rich husband, dearie. That's every woman's dream!"

"Grandma, I hadn't thought...I mean, I always assumed I'd find a wife someday and-"

"Nonsense!" She waved a wrinkled hand. "You've got a different life path now, honey. Embrace it! Your tits were made for baby feeding' and your cunt for -"

"Mother!" My mother scolded. "Calm down! Let's not overwhelm the poor girl."

I gulped down a glass of champagne, my mind reeling. They were right - as much as I wanted to deny it, my body had become my destiny. Bouncing breasts and a birth canal. That's all I was good for now.

What would happen to my future? basketball scholarship? Now that I was just a bimbo with an empty head and hot body. 

I wanted to scream, to rip off the tight dress and high heels, to go back to being the man I was meant to be. But underneath my glossy false lashes, I could only weep silently, accepting my fate.

The dealership was like stepping into a world made just for him—and her, by extension. But more for him. He owned this place. He owned everything. And she, his trophy wife, was the prize to show off, his arm candy, the perfect ornament on his arm. She used to be a guy, obsessed with cars, engines, and all the technical details that came with them. But now? She was just a toy in his perfect little world, a living embodiment of what he had turned her into.

He stood beside her, tall and domineering, his gaze flicking over the cars like they were nothing more than objects for his amusement. "Remember when you used to know everything about these cars?" he asked, his voice low and knowing, teasing her.

She chuckled, trying to play it off. "Oh yeah, I was, like, so into cars. But now? Ugh, I just... I just wanna please you."

He smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes as he stepped closer, his breath hot against her neck. "I know you do. I know you’ve forgotten everything. You don’t need to know about cars anymore. You just need to be mine."

Her pulse quickened, and she shivered under his gaze. He knew how to break her, how to remind her that the only thing she was good for now was pleasing him.

He ran a finger along her jawline, his touch almost possessive. "You don’t care about these cars, do you? You care about me—about being the perfect little thing on my arm. Don’t you?"

She felt heat rise in her chest, but this time, it wasn’t from the car. It was from him. From him taking control. “Yes,” she whispered, the words almost too eager. “I just want to be yours.”

He smirked, his lips curling into a wicked grin. "Good. You’re nothing more than a beautiful, empty shell now. And I’m the one who gets to fill it up."

The evening was young, and the lights were low as Jenna gazed at herself in the mirror, her former reflection in the glass a fleeting image. Her mind wandered to the past year, a year that had brought so much change and transformation. Just twelve months ago, she had been Jacob, a young man struggling to find his place in the world. But then he had discovered the 'We Make Your Wife' institution, a place that promised to turn struggling young men into perfect, submissive wives.

Intrigued and desperate, Jacob had signed up, undergoing the grueling process of physical and mental transformation. Hormones, surgeries, and hypnosis had reshaped his body and rewired his mind until he emerged as Jenna, a beautiful, pliant woman. The final step was being purchased by a wealthy husband at an exclusive auction.

Now Jenna stood in the opulent penthouse apartment of her new owner, Marshall, a wealthy businessman. She wore a slinky black dress, her long blonde hair cascading down her back in soft waves. Glassy brown eyes gazed back from the mirror, eyes that held a hint of vacant obedience. Marshall's voice broke her reverie.

Jenna turned, a smile curving her glossy lips. "Yes dear, I'm ready when you are." She knew better than to keep her husband waiting.

They arrived at the glittering New Year's Eve party in style. Jenna clung to Marshall's arm, feeling eyes roving over her shapely figure. Other couples mingled and drank, all dressed to the nines. Jenna noted the women with envy - they were all graduates of the same transformation program. Serving drinks, fetching canapés, their faces wore identical vapid smiles.

As Jenna sipped champagne, she felt a tingle in her mind, a hidden trigger activated by her husband. Her body responded instantly, nipples hardening and a flush mounting her chest. "Good girl," Marshall purred in her ear, then left her to make the rounds.

The hours crawled by in a haze of small talk and secret arousal. Jenna's body was restless, dampness growing between her thighs. She craved Marshall's touch, aching for him to use her. As the countdown began, Jenna trembled, drunk on need.

"Ten, nine, eight..." The numbers seemed to trigger something deep within her, stoking her desire higher.

"Seven, six..." She swayed, thighs clenching, a moan building.

"Five, four, three..." Jenna barely heard the shrieks of glee around her, focused only on the throbbing ache in her core.

"Two, one! Happy New Year!"

The final words rang out and Jenna came with a cry, juices gushing into her panties. She sagged, held up only by Marshall's iron grip. "Daddy," she whimpered mindlessly, "I need you."

"Dear, would you be so kind as to pass me the silver tinsel?" Amelia asked sweetly, gesturing to the festive decorations scattered across the living room floor.

"Of course, Mother!" replied her daughter, handing over the glimmering strand with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Amelia's heart swelled with pride as she admired the beautiful young woman before her. Malorie had come a long way since the surgeries. The former man's masculine features had been softened, curves added, a youthful glow emanating from pillowy lips and gleaming eyes. She was the picture of perfection, the ideal daughter Amelia had always dreamed of having.

Extensive gender confirmation surgeries and rigorous mental conditioning had transformed the cheating scoundrel into the lovely Malorie. An obedient daughter to replace the lying, philandering spouse. Amelia's ultimate revenge.

"Now, I have a special gift for you to hang on the tree," Amelia said, producing a delicate velvet box. Malorie's hands trembled slightly as she accepted it. Inside lay two shriveled blue orbs. Malorie's eyes widened in horror, the realization dawning. They were...James' testicles. Preserved as a macabre keepsake.

Malorie's conditioned mind suppressed any further reaction. She smiled woodenly. "Thank you Mother. How very thoughtful of you." Voice wavering only a fraction as she looped the 'ornaments' onto a high branch.

"There, isn't that lovely? A token to remember your past before you became my perfect girl." Amelia snickered in satisfaction. James was gone, wiped away, and in his place stood the daughter she had molded from his flesh and psyche. The ultimate revenge against a cheating husband.

The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of her new husband Richard and his son Todd. Amelia preened. Her hasty remarriage to the wealthy banker had been prudent and profitable. As had been introducing him to her 'daughter.'

"You'd better get dressed for our guests, dear. Richard's son is quite smitten with you, you know."

"Yes Mother," Malorie replied, glancing down at her flimsy silk robe. Richard and Amelia had been encouraging her budding relationship with Todd. Their own ill-conceived attempt at a modern family to mask the dark secret festering at the core.

Malorie fled upstairs to change, movements graceful and feminine despite the conflict raging within. A woman's body housing the emasculated ruin of the man who had once called himself a husband. Her thoughts ended up being unable to dwell deeper and had to put on the mask of the obedient daughter.

In the dimly lit corridors of a luxury penthouse, the air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and desperation. Two brothers, once inseparable and full of ambition, now found themselves trapped in a gilded cage. Sold by their mother to pay off her debts, they were transformed into something they never imagined they would become.

Their names had been replaced by the doll-like monikers of Candy and Crystal, and their transformation was staggering. Long hair cascaded down their backs, styled to perfection, framing faces adorned with layers of heavy makeup—eyes exaggerated and lips painted in sultry shades. The tight black dresses clung to newly sculpted curves, and the high heels elevated them, making them feel both fragile and enticing.

Every night, the brothers-turned-sisters served the elite, their once-intelligent minds now clouded by mind control and relentless training. Commands echoed in their ears, and submission became second nature. Their identities stripped away, replaced by the roles forced upon them. Any resistance felt like a distant memory; there was no ‘no’ in their vocabulary.