Attacked by Silk Gloves

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Attacked by Silk Gloves

(F/M, magic, tg, fdom, nc, bd, creative)
by RH Music

While searching for "real magic", Paul locates a crotchety old woman named Rosemary, who can perform a special "glove trick". This trick involves a long glove that comes to life and leaps over the hand and arm of an unsuspecting spectator. Soon Paul discovers that living gloves are just the beginning...

Chapter 1: Paul Meets Rosemary

After six years of searching, Paul was discouraged and depressed.

He had visited hundreds of people, saw thousands of demonstrations, and explored dozens of dead ends.

"There is no such thing as real magic," Paul had to admit. "Now, what am I going to do with my life?"

Paul parked his car in the driveway and looked up. It was an old Victorian mansion, looking especially run down and seedy. What little paint remained was peeling, the yard was strewn with litter, and the wood was rotting away. He heard trucks rumble by, just through the trees.

"Might as well check out this one last lead," he sighed, without much hope.

Paul crossed the porch to the front door. Idly, he wondered if the floorboards would hold his weight. He rang the bell and waited.

Two minutes went by. Paul rang again. He peeked into the side window (cracked), though dirty lace curtains, and peered down a dark and deserted hallway. After a minute, he saw someone cross the hallway.

Paul rang a third time and waited.

Paul rang a fourth time.

"What!?" The door was yanked open and an old, cranky face shot out.

"Oh!" Paul stumbled back. A host of ugly smells washed over him; cigarette smoke, stale sulfur, cheap perfume, baby powder, mildew. "Hi," he coughed, "my name is Paul."

"State your business," she said, impatient and agitated. Her head had a slight uncontrolled quaver to it.

"Right. Mrs. Carter? I saw an article that mentioned you in the Corbet County Times from 1954. A society piece that mentioned a magic trick that you did for a benefit party? Something about a glove that would put itself on your hand, ummm..." She looked at him with complete contempt. "Yeah, well I'm curious how you did it. I'm really good at illusions, and I don't see how that trick could be possible."

"Well, maybe it wasn't a trick. Maybe it was real?"

Paul felt his heart skip a beat. "Real?" he stammered.

"Har har haaarr," she wheezed at him. Paul felt a gentle mist of spittle land on his face. "You kids are so gullible. You'll believe anything. Some magician you are. Well, I'm sorry, but my entertaining days are long over. Goodbye." She pulled back and swung the door shut.

"Wait!" Paul shouted, and lunged forward. "Ahhh, fuck!" he screamed as the door closed solidly on his hand and then bounced back.

The old lady appeared again. "Now what?"

"Oh god." Paul moaned, rocking back and forth, doubled over with his hand in his lap. He looked up at her. "Please. I just need to know for sure. Can you show me the trick?"

She looked at him more closely, her head tilted to one side. Her nostrils flared.

"Well, I was looking for a woman..." she said, quietly, after a long pause.

"Excuse me?" Paul asked, not sure he had heard correctly.

The old lady pushed a finger into her nose and picked at it for a second.

"Alright, come in," she said finally. "You interrupted my lunch."


Paul sat watching Mrs. Carter ("Call me Rosemary," she had said) hunched over her soup, slurping noisily. Both elbows were on the table and she covered the bowl.

"Good thing you're here, place is a pig sty. Can't say I ever cared to keep it up for anyone after my daughter died." Soup dripped down her chin. She wiped it off with her housecoat.

Paul looked around. The table was coated with a greasy film, the chairs were sticky and oozing lint, and dead cockroaches clustered in the corner. To make the soup, she just picked a random pot from a pile of dirty dishes. He was glad that she hadn't offered him any.

"Excuse me?" Paul asked.

"I said, you can start with the kitchen."

"Kitchen?" Paul was befuddled.

"Yes. Clean it!"

"What? Why?"

"God, you're thicker than a cinder block! Do you think I'm going to share a secret with a snot-nosed, wet-bottom infant like you? You're going to have to work for it."

"Now wait a minute. I don't even know if you can do magic at all. I don't even know if you're really Mrs. Carter! If I'm going to be your personal cleaning service, I need some proof or I'm headed right...."

Paul stopped short. Rosemary had reached over and tapped his wrist with an oily, sticky finger and his wrist, as if shackled by a magnetic cuff, had leapt to the finger, shifting his whole body forward.

"God, I hate you smart-asses! You don't know shit." She moved her finger effortlessly to the side, and Paul's wrist, welded to it, was dragged along. "Just a sniveling twerp, a braying jackass." She kept going, causing Paul to stumble out of his chair and onto his knees, his face knocking over an old bowl of sour milk which clattered across the floor.

Rosemary pushed his wrist to the floor. With a twist, she disengaged her finger leaving Paul invisibly locked to the floor.

Paul looked up at Rosemary, frightened, heart pounding, scared shitless. Frantically he pulled at his wrist trying to get free. She reached a finger to his head.

"No!" Paul shouted and jerked back. Too late. His entire skull, as if encased in a tight leather mask, was pulled to her finger. The force was immense, with no apparent effort on her part at all.

"Is this hypnosis?" he wondered. He thought that he had studied hypnosis and was able to defeat it. "Is this a trick? Is this real?"

Paul struggled uselessly as Rosemary slowly, almost gracefully, pushed his head to the floor where it stuck fast to the slimy linoleum alongside the wrist. For extra measure, she tilted it so his nose and lips were pressed to the floor.

"You need to learn to respect your elders, boy."

Paul looked up as best he could, but all he could see were gray spotted feet, split toenails and threadbare sandals.

"Here's the deal. You clean this kitchen, and if you do a good job I'll show you something. Otherwise, get the fuck out of here and if I ever see you again I'm calling the police." Rosemary picked up her foot and ground a sandal into his face. The bottom was gritty. Leaving her soup only half finished, she got up and left.

Paul listened as she slowly ascended the stairs. As soon as her bedroom door slammed shut, his bonds were released.

**Wham** His body flew up off the floor and his head hit the table. "Fuck!!" Frantically, Paul scrambled out of the kitchen and then ran for the front door, but just as he stepped out onto the porch...

...he stopped.

"Shit," Paul thought, "she is one dangerous old bitch." He turned to leave. Then turned back, his hand still on the door knob... he turned around again... forwards, backwards, until finally he just stood still, one foot inside and one outside, trying to calm down and settle his breathing.

Paul thought back to what had happened. How had she done it?? It had to be real. It had to be!

But still he hesitated, frozen to the spot.

Finally, Paul stepped back into the house and closed the door behind him.


It was four hours later before Paul saw Rosemary again. He had spent the entire time in the kitchen, cleaning it as best he could.

He was working on the floor when Rosemary stepped in. He saw her feet first, and then looked up at her scrawny legs.

She stepped back. "Pervert," she muttered.

Rosemary took a long, hard look at Paul, taking so long that he looked away, embarrassed.

"What?" he asked.

She sat down at the table.

"Dinner."


By this time, Paul knew the kitchen pretty well, so he boiled some more soup and they ate in silence.

Rosemary sat back in the chair, put an arm on the table, and looked over.

"Alright. Thank you for cleaning up the kitchen. I had forgotten what color it was."

Rosemary grimaced at him, belched, and drummed her fingers. "Alright. I guess I'll have to show you something," Paul's eyes lit up, "but not tonight. I'm too tired. Tomorrow."

"But..." Paul started.

"What?" She looked at him, piercingly.

Paul sputtered, but sat back, resigned. Now that he had made up his mind, he was determined to see this through.

Rosemary got out of her chair. "Get up. You can sleep in my daughter's old room."


Chapter 2: The Glove Trick

Paul woke up, his heart racing. He checked his watch on the nightstand. 12 midnight, so he had only been asleep for a couple of hours. "Gonna be a long night," he sighed.

Ancient but unmistakably feminine smells surrounded him. He looked around the room, scanning its contents. Apparently, nothing had been touched after Rosemary's daughter had died.

"A car accident," Rosemary had said, clearly still angry. "Hit and run."

Old clothing was left on chairs and dressers, make-up lids were still open and the bed had been left unmade. It felt weird sleeping in a bed with sheets last used by a young woman who had died 25 years ago. Her presence was palpable... and creepy.

Paul looked down. The covers had trapped his penis and he realized now that it was rock hard. "Jesus, why you?" He idly stroked it through the sheets, enjoying the sensation. Paul was naked under the covers, simply because that's the way he always slept. The bed was a wonderful four-poster canopy bed, now covered with dingy, faded, flower-print curtains. The daughter (Paul had never heard her name) must have been treasured and spoiled by doting parents to have been able to sleep in such a well appointed bedroom.

After a minute or two, he got up and walked across the room. A crooked light from the highway next door glinted faintly through the window. He parted the curtains and watched some trucks drive by.

The dressing table was strewn with makeup, school pins, jewelry and old concert tickets. Leafing through a school notebook, Paul discovered that the daughter's name was Janice. Apparently she was pretty popular. Her prom date had been some guy called "Jacob", apparently a real hunk, if the notes from her friends were any indication.

At the end of the dresser, Paul spied a pair of gloves. "Are these the gloves from the trick?" Paul wondered. He picked one up and looked at it carefully. It was made of silk, and was long, apparently intended to be worn over the elbow at a fancy affair. "The Prom?" He held it up to his hands; it would be a tight fit.

Paul put the glove down. "Alacazam!" Paul waved his hand over it, being stupid, pretending to weave a spell.

"Shit!" Paul jerked his hand back.

The glove had moved.

"Uh... it must have just shifted, right?" Paul asked himself.

After a second, he moved his hand closer and as he came within a few inches, the gloved moved again, this time sliding towards his hand a little.

"Jesus!" he said, pulling his hand quickly back. "This is it!" He wondered if maybe he was still dreaming.

Paul steadied his breathing and reached forward one more time. This time, as soon as he got close, the glove jumped up and engulfed his hand!

"Ack!" He fell back and tried to shake it off. His hand felt like it was being swallowed up by a silk snake, working its way up his arm, sensuously caressing it as it gradually inched its way up higher and higher. Paul pulled frantically, but as soon as he got any kind of grip on the fabric, it would just wriggle and slip away.

"Damn it!" The glove had reached his elbow, and now the fingers came to life. Each one wriggled wildly. "Damn, NO!" he quickly clenched his fist.

Despite Paul’s frantic tugging and pulling, the thumb of the glove gradually worked its way onto the tip of Paul's thumb, attacking it like some live animal. And once the tip was surrounded, it easily ate up the rest, surrounding it and isolating it from the rest of the hand.

The fingers were next. Paul held his fist closed as best he could, but the silk of the glove wormed its way into all of the smallest spaces, slithering, probing, stroking, and eventually separating. Starting with the index finger, each digit was individually pried away from the fist, isolated, and then forced down its own silken tube. The glove wriggled some more, making sure there was no slack anywhere, pushing itself further up his arm until it reached his armpit.

Paul had lost the battle.

Breathing heavily, he held up his arm and looked at the glove, rotating it. His hand seemed smaller somehow... squeezed by the glove? But not uncomfortably tight.

There was a soft 'click' and Paul felt a slight tightening around his upper arm. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the glove was locked. It would be impossible to get it off now without destroying it.

By this time, Paul had backed up to the bed and was leaning against it, trying to calm his pounding heart, sweating. He looked up as he heard something clatter on the dresser, and he watched in horror as the other glove knocked over an empty perfume bottle, dropped to the floor, and began slithering across the floor, the arm-hole open and ready to swallow up his free hand.

"Oh no you don't!" This time Paul was ready. He leapt onto the bed, interlaced his fingers and sat on them. "There! See if you can beat that!" The glove slithered up the bedpost and snaked across the bed where it immediately tried to wedge itself underneath Paul's bottom.

Unfortunately, Paul hadn't counted on the other glove helping out. The fingers started moving, trying to disengage themselves, and try as he could to stop it, they were too strong. Paul desperately tried to sit still, but it was impossible with one glove burrowing ever deeper and the other squirming like a live animal beneath him.

"Damn!" Paul gave up on defense and went for offense. Jumping up, he tried to brush the second glove off the bed, but it was too fast! It leapt up and firmly grasped his fingers, and no amount of flailing about could shake it off. The glove now devoured his entire arm, eating it up inch by inch, gaining ground slowly, but surely. Paul still fought as hard as he could, but knew in his heart that the outcome was certain.

And so, a few minutes later Paul’s heart sunk as he heard the inevitable 'click'. The second glove was now securely locked onto his arm like the first.

Paul sat for a moment, close to tears. Both his hands were now encased in tight, slippery, white silk opera-length gloves from finger tip to armpit.

"Damn, it!" He wondered how Rosemary would react once she found out. Probably it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been so nosy and hadn't poked around the dresser. But certainly her magic would be powerful enough to undo this spell... right?

"Unless she doesn't want to," the thought caused his stomach to knot up. He did not like the idea of being trapped in these silk gloves forever. He sat back and tried to relax.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered over and over, realizing that he was going to be wearing the gloves for a while. He marveled at how incredible the glove trick was. And now he had seen it! And not just once but twice!

But he was glad it was over. After all, both of his hands had been covered and so there was nothing more to lose.

They were gorgeous. Paul marveled at how dainty they made his hands look. If he hadn't known better, he would have said that his hands did, in fact, look more delicate and feminine. He held a hand to his face and gently stroked the smooth silk over his cheek. Almost immediately, his penis reacted.

Then, as he stroked his cheek, he noticed that he wasn't doing all of the stroking. The glove itself was controlling his fingers and doing some of the caressing on its own. "Now, *this* is weird," he thought.

With a start, Paul felt the other glove on his bare chest. The sensation of the silk as the glove stroked and fondled was delicious and he felt his cock growing. After a moment, both gloves began tweaking and pinching his nipples.

"Oh..." Paul moaned as he laid back and enjoyed the sensations. Why were his nipples suddenly so sensitive? His penis was now fully hard and throbbed for attention.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Paul moaning and writhing on the bed. Even feeling pretty freaked out by what was happening, he still couldn’t stop it, even if he wanted to. The gloves continued on their own accord.

Eventually, one of them slid down his belly. The fingers formed a silken tunnel and then slipped over Paul’s penis, gently stroking it in long slow strokes. His whole body tensed up, and a moment later he erupted, shooting sperm up his belly and over his chest.

After a few more strokes to squeeze out the last drops of cum, the gloves scooped it up and brought it close to his face. For some reason Paul didn't even think twice, he just inhaled the moist aroma, opened his mouth and sucked all of the sperm off of the gloves. This continued until he (and the gloves) were both all clean.

As the gloves went back to stroke some more, Paul drifted off into a light sleep.


Chapter 3: Completely trapped

Paul did not sleep soundly. His dreams were full of disembodied, self-animated gloves caressing his body, of Rosemary humiliating him as he tried to explain why the gloves were stained with cum, and of him naked in front of her as she verbally abused his enormous rock-hard cock.

Then he dreamt he had become a glove, able to move like an inchworm, able to grasp onto an unsuspecting hand and swallow it down his throat. The scene changed and he was a pair of panties, being put on by the daughter and somehow his arms and legs made loops for the leg holes and his face was the strip of fabric at the crotch. She started walking across the room and the panties rode up her ass crack, and his face was rubbed across her anus. Then the daughter changed into a man and his face mashed into musky male pubic hairs. Then the man changed into Rosemary and her shriveled buttocks.

"Unh!" Paul woke with a jolt and shook the images from his mind. That last, intimate picture of Rosemary turned his stomach.

Paul rolled over, put his feet on the floor, and reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.

The gloves! He had forgotten about the gloves, but there they were; white silk gloves covering his hands up past the elbows. He sighed and looked at them, wondering what to do. Would Rosemary go ballistic when she saw that he was wearing them? He expected that Rosemary was responsible for them in the first place, and he knew for sure that he would be wearing them until he got her help to take them off. Perhaps it was her plan to get him to ask for her help, to make him feel more humble... or something.

He took a closer look at the hem of the glove. It was not so restrictive that it cut off his blood, just a nice firm fit. However, it had absolutely no give at all. He could not force even a fingernail underneath it. It was like a steel band around his upper arm, allowing no hope for escape. He tried pushing the glove down his arm, but each time he did the glove simply wriggled back into place. Not that he could have gotten very far, anyway.

Of course, he could always just cut the gloves from his hand. But he was sure that the glove would defend itself (and god only knows what that would mean!) and besides, the gloves were beautiful, and he didn't want to destroy something so magical, which was, for the moment at least, totally mysterious and unfathomable to him. This was exactly what he had been so desperately searching for.

Paul looked at his watch. 2:14 AM. He let out another sigh; 5 hours left until morning. He looked around the room.

"That's strange," he said. There was a bra lying on the bed, off to the side. "Was that there before?" He reached over and picked it up.

The bra was perfectly ordinary; white, with simple elastic straps. The cups were nylon fabric with a stiff underwire. He tossed the bra back where he had picked it up.

"Now hold on." This time there was a body cincher on the bed.

"I swear, that wasn't there before." He wondered if it had been obscured by shadows, or by the folds in the bed covers.

Paul picked up the cincher and looked at it. It was simply a wide strip of satin, about a foot wide and two feet long, which went about the waist and cinched the waist in a few inches. There were eight hooks on one end, and three rows of eight eyes on the other, for three possible levels of tightness, each about an inch tighter. It was lightly boned with plastic stays and had tabs hanging down for holding up stockings.

Paul had never seen a cincher before and he was curious. It seemed so feminine, somehow. He sucked in his belly and held up the cincher, wondering how it would work. The fabric was pretty stiff. The tabs dangled down his legs.

"HUP!" he gasped, as his breath was caught short. A sneak attack! The ends of the waist cinch whipped out of his hands (easily done because his silk gloves had no grip) and curled around his body with a *snap* as the first hook caught the first eye.

Later, Paul would kick himself for being so stupid. Why had he stayed in the bedroom at all? Shouldn’t he have realized he was in danger? He had honestly thought that the glove trick was all that there was, and would have scoffed at the idea that the other pieces of clothing might be similarly inclined.

But no longer. Paul frantically reached behind his back with both hands, trying to grip the ends of the cincher to undo the hooks. *snap*, *snap*, *snap*! Three more hooks coupled with three more eyes. Damn! *snap*, *snap*... His gloved fingers just couldn't get a grip! *snap*! Nor did it seem like he could budge the cincher at all. *snap*! He pushed and twisted, but he couldn’t even undo the first hook.

Paul let go and tried to twist around to see if he could see what was going on. *Snap*! The first hook had moved to the next tighter row of eyes. His waist felt like it was clamped in a satin vice grip. *Snap*, *snap*! Two more cinched in.

"Aaahhck!" Paul felt his breath grow short, frantic now that he was being cut in half. He looked down at his waist and saw that it had visibly shrunk, much more than should have been possible. *Snap*, *snap*, *snap*! Three more hooks cinched in another inch.

Something brushed over his hand. It was the bra! Paul looked down and saw that his right hand had become encircled by a bra strap.

"Oh no you don't!" he shouted, yanking at the bra and pulling it completely off. But now his other hand was entangled with straps!

"Damn!" He waved his hand frantically through the air, the bra wildly whipping around him.

*Snap*! The final hook on the cincher had made it to the second row of eyes.

It wasn’t long before Paul had both hands tangled up in bra straps. He looked around, trying to find some way, any way, to get it off!

*Snap*! The first hook now moved to the next row of eyes, pulling the cinch another terrifying inch tighter. What the fuck is going on?? he thought, in panic. His waist was shrinking! It had to be! But... that was impossible!

*Snap*, *snap*! Two more hooks each tightened up an inch to the next row of eyes. The constriction was horrible and his breath came out in short gasps. He looked back to the brassiere and what he saw made his heart sink. The gloves were against him! While his attention had been diverted to the cincher, the gloves had untangled the bra straps and the bra had actually slipped up his left arm, past the elbow!

"Nooooo!" He reached with his right hand, trying to push the straps back down his arm. As he did, the right bra strap slipped up his right arm up to the elbow.

*Snap*! Another hook pulled the cincher still tighter around his waist. Each snap was taking longer now, as the cincher struggled to pull each one in to the last and tightest position. The pressure was unbearable.

Moving back to the bra, he reached for the bra straps, trying to grasp them and pull them back down his arms, but the fingers refused to grasp! All he could do was paw at the straps, but they easily worked their way up his arms.

*Snap*! Another hook tightened. His waist was being inevitably shrunk to a diameter of 26 inches, a full six inches smaller than normal. *Snap*! Only two more to go.

The bra, having completely evaded his feeble defenses, now slipped up over his shoulders. The ends of the bra slithered around his back, snugly embracing his torso, and the first hook and eye engaged with a *snap*.

*Snap*, the cincher pulled in further.

*Snap* the second hook on the bra pulled the bra firmly into place, solidly encasing his chest in its silky grip. Paul could just barely breathe, and couldn't bend over at all.

*Snap*, the last hook on the cincher was firmly set in its final position.

*Snap*, *Snap*, the hooks on the bra snapped in another position, tightening the bra. And then finally, *Snap, *SNAP*! The bra pulled tighter into its final position, sealing his fate.

Paul beat the bed in frustration, gasping and sobbing. He had been fully defeated by two simple articles of woman's underwear, which had magically trapped his body in a virtual silk prison!

As the tears streamed down his face wetting the bra, he looked down and saw something he absolutely couldn't believe; his breasts were growing.

It was unmistakable; his breasts were expanding to fill the bra. What had been empty, loose fabric cups were now slowly filling out. He reached up with his hands in a ridiculous attempt to push the growing bosoms back into his body. But try as he might, his new tits grew steadily causing his fingers to part.

Pretty soon they were at about an A cup, then B, then C, before stopping somewhere between C and D. Complete and full breasts, which the bra was just barely able to contain; bosoms which bulged out over the top of their silk confinement.

Paul looked with horror at his body as the final goal of these events became clear to him; he was being transformed. As each piece of clothing attached itself to him, that part of his body would be transformed into something smaller, more delicate, and more feminine. He didn't notice it with his hands and waist, because they could have been simply due to the compression of the tight fabrics. But his breasts provided conclusive evidence.

"Got to get the fuck out of here!" Paul told himself, realizing now that there was not a moment to lose if he was to keep what was left of his body intact. He hopped to the floor, grabbed his watch and wallet, and strode for the door...

... but stumbled and fell down hard. "Shit, shit, shit!" Something had tripped him! He pistoned his legs trying to get them back under him. He looked down at his legs and saw what had gone wrong; a stocking had wound itself around his ankles, and a second was now clasped onto his right foot, working its way over his ankle.

"Oh fuck...Ohhhh fuckfuckfuckfuck." Paul could clearly see where this was headed. He reached down and tried to untangle the stocking. He got a foot free, rose to his knees, and lurched for the door.... And fell down hard, again. Now both feet were covered with stockings, one had just wriggled over his knee, and the other was just over his ankle.

The struggle didn't last much longer. Paul tried to take off the stockings, but the arms and hands of his gloves wouldn't obey. Every time he tried to get up to leave, stockings or no stockings, his own two feet would trip him up, as if his feet were being pulled out from underneath him.

After just a minute or so the battle was lost. Even the stocking tabs on the cincher had strained down and attached themselves firmly to the stocking tops. Paul lay on his stomach, face to the floor, fingers clawing the carpet, sobbing. He looked down at his legs and a fresh torrent of tears flowed forth.

"Why me?" he cried. His legs were now thinner and more beautiful, with much smaller feet and pointed toes. And there was not even a run in the stockings.

He made one last attempt for the door, crawling on hands and knees, but the gloves and stockings worked together to thwart any progress. He struggled against them, but the magic was too strong. He could only just hold still for a few minutes and then his hands and arms would push him back. He sat back against the bed, shaking from the effort, breathing in gasps, feeling resigned and depressed.


Once his breathing settled down, Paul took stock of the situation.

First, his hands and arms were covered in shiny, smooth, over the elbow, silk, opera length gloves. The gloves would give him control of his fingers and hands only when he relaxed and didn't fight the magic. His hands were smaller than normal, with proportionally longer fingers. Paul rubbed the fingers together, feeling the silk, and, almost against his will, the fingers rose to stroke his cheek as they had already done many times that night.

Second, a size C bra covered his chest, made of shiny white nylon. It cupped and hugged his new breasts, which were just a bit too large for it. He saw his new nipples for the first time; they had grown significantly, and were about the same thickness as his index finger. A silk finger traced down a breast and experimentally brushed one.

"Oh!" he sucked in his breath sharply. He had not been prepared for the intensity of the electric thrill that shot through his body. Paul swallowed hard as both hands tweaked both nipples and then watched as the traitorous fingers traced light circles around the ample curves of his bosom. Next, the gloves cupped both tits and hefted and kneaded them. If they had been on anyone else, Paul would have said that they were perfect.

With effort, Paul continued his exploration with the third item, his waist, which was now enclosed in the grip of the tight waist cincher. He traced his hands around it, feeling a light tickle across his sides and stomach. Paul still couldn't believe how narrow his waist had become. Although his breathing was definitely impaired, the cincher was not crushing. The magic had definitely given him a nice hourglass figure.

Fourth, the stockings. Again, they were simple nylon stockings, but his legs had become decidedly more slender and curved than before because of them. He ran his fingers up and down their length, feeling how much more sensitive his skin had become. He saw his toes, now seemingly more dainty, as they fanned out the stocking fabric.

Paul leaned back against the bed and closed his eyes, trying to put it all together and decide what to do next. One of the gloves, on its own, snaked down to his penis, which was already hard, and started lightly stroking it. A second cupped and played with his bosoms and lightly stroked and pinched his new nipples.

"Oh," Paul moaned. "It's not as if I've been hurt, really, just transformed. Oh god..." the glove had pinched harder on his nipple, twisting it. "I'm sure the magic can be undone, I am still me, after all. Unhhhh..." the other glove had reached down and was lightly tracing up and down the inside of his sensitive thighs. "And every attempt to fight it has been hopeless... and I'm so fucking tired... trapped... and Jesus! This feels good," he moaned. A hand went down to rub his balls lightly with silk fingers.

Paul relaxed and closed his eyes as the gloves did their work. He could see no way out of his situation. The sensations were so sensual and he felt himself building quickly to his second orgasm that night. It didn't take long for the strange new sensations to shift his brain into a new, delicious rapture. He was just reaching his peak...

But then it all stopped. Paul tried to reach down with his hands, but the gloves resisted. He jerked up, wondering what was happening, when he saw a pair of nylon panties over his ankles, slithering up his legs.

"NO!" Paul realized he had not given up after all. He knew what would happen now, and realized that under no circumstance could he let the panties reach their goal. He fumbled down, fighting the gloves, and caught hold of the briefs with a fist. The lady's briefs slipped away and crawled up over his knees.

No amount of clenching his thighs or pawing at them with useless fingers seemed to make any difference. The undergarments settled snugly over his hips, cupping his buttocks, settling around his constricted waist, and clasping around his penis, which, amazingly, was still rock hard. Paul reached down, frantically, covering his penis, trying to protect it, but it was too late...

His penis, still hard, began to shrink away underneath his fingers. "Stop! Nooooooo!!!" he pleaded, as he felt it shrink and disappear.

The transformation under the panties took just another second, as his buttocks tightened, his hips widened slightly, and the folds at his crotch deepened into the puffy lips of a full-fledged vagina.

Paul now had his own vagina, which made him now undeniably female. "But, I'm still me!" he said feebly, wondering if it was really true. He ran his hands over the swell of his hips, over his cute ass, and finally between his legs.

His penis was gone. In its place was a pussy, with lips that opened up and thrilled to his touch. It was definitely affected by his recent sexual excitement, for the lips made a damp stain on the panties and it was very warm.

Paul pulled his hands away. "Damn it!" He stated, "I am still a man! This is just some freaky trick and I remain who I am!"

He rolled on to his knees and stood up - holding on to one of the bed posts for balance, trying again to get to the door. But what he saw on the bed caused his heart to sink; a long-sleeved negligee.

It was a beautiful garment; sumptuous nylon, long sleeves, slim with an open neck and trimmed with lace and embroidery.

Like a stream of water, the gown flowed across his body, covered his head and arms in its silk confines and then slipped down enclosing him like a sheath. The gloves poked themselves through the armholes and each button at the back pushed into its buttonhole, tightening the negligee about his body, smoothing his final bulges into one sleek figure. He was now fully captured in its clasping silk embrace, as it clung tightly around his skin.

He couldn't deny that the gown felt intensely pleasurable, and wondered if that was part of the magic. Paul took a few steps around the bed and felt the silk slip smoothly around his legs and arms and over his shoulders.

Paul stepped on something and looked down. It was a pair of bedroom slippers made of pink taffeta fabric. They had small, flat heels with an open back. His toes curled for a second, and then his feet just automatically stepped into them.

"Now what?" he wondered. Paul looked around the room, held his arms out and then looked down at the dressing gown. His new bedroom slippers poked out from underneath the long nightgown. It was late, and he was tired. He sighed, and realized that there was no more energy left with which he could fight the magic anymore.

Paul looked up and spied the dressing table. Without any conscious thought, he found his feet guiding him to the dressing table where he sat down and turned on the lamp next to the mirror.

Paul looked into the mirror. "It is still me," he remarked, out loud. His face had not changed, but it was on top of a body which was obviously not his. As Paul stared into the mirror at his new bust, shoulders, and waist, he became overwhelmed and tears began to roll down his cheeks; slowly at first, and then more as he sobbed and covered his face with his gloved hands. "Damn!" he pounded the table. He was upset that he had been trapped like this.

"Why didn't I run when I had the chance? What will I do?" He knew that his only hope now was to get Rosemary to reverse the magic. There was no other option.

Eventually, his crying subsided and he looked around for a tissue. Instead, he spied a handkerchief with some delicate lace around the edges. Paul dried his eyes and blew his nose and generally cleaned up.

Paul finished wiping his face with the handkerchief and then lifted his head to look in the mirror. What he saw caused his heart to sink.

It was no longer his face staring back at him through the mirror. Instead it was the face of a beautiful young woman.


Chapter 4: Rosemary’s Plan

"Oh Janice!" Rosemary rushed to the bed, a hand over her mouth.

Paul rolled over to face Rosemary. He had spent the last few remaining hours of the night in a deep, weary sleep.

Before falling asleep however, he did take more time to explore his body. The exploration had ended in a warm orgasm that coursed through his body and vibrated with a delightful hum. Somehow he felt a bit more feminine, and the body felt a bit less foreign after the experience. After that, he slept soundly.

"Oh Janice!" Rosemary repeated, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder, "is it really you?" Her voice had reached a shrill pitch. She was a bit on edge.

"No, I'm Paul. Please... I'm still Paul! Out!" Trying to wake up, Paul struggled to put together a coherent sentence. "Clothes, off, I need to take these clothes off! Why? Please! Reversed magic... What am I going to tell my parents?" He looked up at Rosemary.

"Oh!" she burst out, sobbing, "Janice!" Rosemary staggered back to the dressing table chair. She pulled her dress up and used it to wipe away her tears. "It's been so long." She looked at Paul again.

Paul waited until she settled down. "Rosemary," Paul continued, more gently this time, "I am still Paul. Change my body back to the way it was, please."

"No!" her swift fierceness surprised him. Suddenly her cragged features became sharp and penetrating. "I've worked 25 years for this moment, and now it's begun. You are my daughter, Janice, and you're going to stay that way."

"No, I'm not! I'm Paul! It's still me inside!"

"Hah. Look at you. You are the exact image of my darling, and you already hold her spirit within you. Soon, you will fade, and Janice will take over."

"Nooooo..." Paul whimpered, collapsing in shock. Could this be true? What could he do?

"Yes. The more you become accustomed to your new image and the more you become accustomed to your new body and feelings, the more your mind will weaken to her soul. It's only a matter of time before I have my daughter completely back."

Paul looked at her in shock. He barely recognized the words. Rosemary had shed her image as a worn-out old hag as easily as an actor shedding a cloak. In its place was someone confident, someone with a purpose, someone intelligent. Someone to be feared.

Paul mustered up what courage he had left. "I won't do it," he said with nervous confidence. "I won't submit!"

"Oh but you will. One or two days at the most; every time you sleep, every time you feel the clothes on your skin, every time you have an orgasm, every time you do something feminine, these are the times when your male ego will slip just a little, giving my Janice a foothold."

Paul cringed, remembering his climax from the night before, and how he had felt afterwards. It was already happening! "Stop!" he cried, hiding his face in the covers.

Rosemary walked over to the bed and spoke louder, through the covers. "Give it up! You can't resist. Let her in!"

"No! No! NO!"

She smiled. "Well, it's going to happen anyway. I'm going down for breakfast. When the bed is done with you, why don't you join me? The dishes are clean." Janice slammed the door behind her.


Paul pulled his head from under the covers and flopped back in bed, frustrated. "Fuck you!" he shouted, but his voice betrayed his panic. "I’ve got to get out of here!"

But just as he turned to get out of bed, Paul felt something move. "What?" He froze and looked down. The bed was covered with a light, white knit blanket and sheets. Something had definitely moved. He sat up gradually, and began to slowly push himself out of bed.

Something soft clamped around his ankles. "Shit," Paul reached down to push away his attacker. But there was nothing there! "What's going on?" An invisible aggressor pulled his leg hard towards the bottom of the bed and he fell backwards, flat on his back.

Just then, the covers themselves tightened around his ankles and legs, as if they were attracted by static cling. "What the fuck?" He sat up a second time and reached down to pull them away, but they tightened further, outlining his stocking legs underneath. The covers tightened around them, squeezing his calves and thighs, and then gradually forced his legs apart.

"Stop!" He reached down to pull the covers off, but they had now grasped tightly around his torso, all the way around his waist. They pressed in, and then started to wriggle their way under his bottom, tucking in around his body.

"NO. Stop. Damn!" Paul reached for the headboard, thinking he might pull himself off the bed, but just as he reached up the top half of the sheets slithered up his body and clasped tight around his neck and torso. "Aaahhhh..." he moaned, as they clung tightly around his chest, squeezing the breath out of him.

Choking and desperate, he flailed about, but as he did, the covers flowed around his arms too! Outlining each arm, they gradually pushed them down... down... to his sides.

Paul was forced by the sheets to lie down on his back and was moved to the middle of the bed. The sheets flowed around him filling every nook and cranny, flowing between his legs, all the way around each arm, and underneath him. In the next moment, they flowed up over his face! And soon they were covering his head, pressing into his face, and into his ears. Although he could still breathe through the fabric, it felt like he was entombed in a cotton body bag. The bed looked like a tank of running water with sheets and covers rippling all over his body.

As they tucked in further, his arms were gradually forced away from his body, and his legs were pried further apart. Sheets surged around his breasts, encircling them, massaging them, and then grasping them. "Oh!" he gasped, as his body began to respond to the rough manipulation. Once each breast was firmly clamped in its own fabric vise, the top of the sheet formed two folds, which then pinched together, with his new, larger nipples caught between.

"Oh fuck!" Paul tensed and bucked his body, struggling desperately to escape the intimate grasp. His new breasts were fantastically sensitive, and he felt his sex respond against his will. "Stop! Please..." he whimpered. The bed covers grasped firmly around his body and just rode along with his struggles. The merciless pinching and massaging of his breasts continued, inescapable.

But the worst was still to come. Sheets flowed up his legs, pushing his nightgown up his body and worming their way into the waistband of his panties. Then, with a downward ripple, the sheets actually pushed the underwear right off, down to his thighs. Now with complete access, the fabric flowed easily between his legs, over and around each buttock, and over his new female sex.

"Gaaahhhh..." he gasped, the sensation taking his breath away. The covers clung to his sex and rippled over it. Combined with the pinching and manipulation of his nipples, Paul was overwhelmed. "Can't cum...." Paul gritted his teeth, trying not to climax, realizing that his consciousness would slip away with each and every orgasm.

Not to be outdone, the diabolical covers formed two folds at his crotch, and then started to gently pinch his clitoris. "FUCK!" He shouted as his whole body clenched and the first orgasm flowed over him. "God," his new body was so sensitive, so responsive. "Am I more sensitive because of the magic?" he wondered in terror, realizing that his body was going to respond and control his mind, rather than the other way around.

Worse, the body was female, which meant that one orgasm wasn't enough. The sheets became more aggressive underneath his bottom, flowing into his ass crack. They pulled his cheeks apart, and then, with a hard point, they actually penetrated his anus.

Once started, Paul was powerless to resist the waterfall of sensations. He climaxed a second time, easily, then a third as the manipulations all over his body continued and increased. Then a fourth, as the sheets worked their way into his pussy, thrusting in and out.

And then he blacked out.


Chapter 5: The fight becomes more desperate

Paul gradually came back to consciousness, fighting a dense fog of confusion. It took longer to focus now, and his body was starting to feel more natural. The magic from the sheets had disappeared, and he was able to push them apart, pulling bits of sheet from his crotch and from between his buns.

As soon as he slid out of bed, Paul fell down to his hands and knees, his head spinning. He struggled for a while, trying to focus. Finally, he got up, staggered a bit, propped himself up against the wall and slowly opened the door.

As he stumbled out of the room and down the stairs, he could feel the intimate grasp of the clothing he wore as it rubbed against his new feminine body. The waist cincher compressed his waist, the panties (how had they got pulled up? he wondered) hugged his crotch and buns, the stockings clung to his legs, and the long nightgown slid smoothly back and forth. And, of course, there were always the gloves, which tightly encased both arms and each finger. Each step made him realize all over again how very female this new body was.

At the bottom of the stairs he saw the front door, and went straight for it. It was locked with a dead bolt that could only be opened with a key from the inside. "Damn," he muttered. He started searching for a key, over the doorjamb, amongst the knickknacks. No luck. He went to try the window.

"Finally up, I see?" Rosemary appeared behind him.

"I'm leaving. Let me go." Paul pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry, but you're my daughter now." She stepped forward and reached out with her finger and tapped his elbow, magically shackling it. She effortlessly dragged Paul away from the window.

"Stop! You can't do this to me!!" Paul cried as he was helplessly towed to the kitchen.

"Sure looks like I'm doing it. Now sit here." She put his elbow down, welding the elbow to the tabletop. Unable to escape, Paul sat down heavily.

"Have some breakfast." She clunked down a bowl and filled it with cereal and milk. Paul reluctantly began to eat.

Rosemary sat down and watched. "Did you like the bed?" Paul's face flushed beet red as he remembered the intimate experience. She chuckled at his reaction. "I thought you'd like it. And just think, you'll get to sleep in the very same bed again tonight! And tomorrow night! And every night from now on, for as long as it takes!"

"No, please, it's not fair..." Paul pleaded. But his body betrayed him and he felt his pussy getting moist and slippery as images of being sexually tortured by the bed flashed through his mind. Without thinking, he pressed his legs tightly together.

"It's either you or Janice, and now that I have her body back, I want the rest of her too. The way I see it, it wasn't fair the way she was taken away from me."

"But that's your problem; I have nothing to do with that!"

"You do now. Aren’t you done yet?"

Paul sighed and finished his breakfast.

"Well," Rosemary continued, brightly, "I think its time you had a bath."


As the bathroom door closed behind him, Paul felt his clothing loosen, just slightly. It was a sagging feeling, as if the elastic had given out.

Paul looked at the window. Too small! He tried the door. Locked.

"And it’s going to stay locked until you’re clean and dressed!" he heard Rosemary yell. "Take as long as you like!"

Paul felt grateful for the sanctuary of the bathroom. Even though the door was locked and he was trapped inside, it felt as if he could hide for a while, collect his thoughts, and perhaps plan an escape.

But first, he had to get out of these beautiful, feminine, but terrible clothes. As Paul peeled each item of clothing from his body, he marveled at his new body. The waist was now amazingly thin (had she really been this slender?), the legs were long and smooth, and his new bosoms were large and heavy. The only way he could stand comfortably was up straight and with his shoulders back. This caused the breasts to jut prominently from his chest.

"I should be proud," he thought, "they are perfect." Paul reached up to cup and stroke them a second, but then stopped and cursed when he realized it was starting to get him excited. His whole body felt like it was on a hair trigger, and he felt he might just be a few orgasms away from losing his grip completely.

When Paul turned to the mirror, he saw Janice's frightened face staring back at him. The only thing that remained of the old Paul was his hair. Apparently that's where the magic stopped short. But since his hair was already shaggy, he ended up just looking like some female athlete on a really bad hair day.

Paul sat down on the toilet, depressed. "What am I going to do?" he wondered. The situation looked hopeless. He had to escape, but how? He was trapped in this incredibly feminine body, and every time he blacked out from an orgasm, it was getting more and more difficult to come out of it.

He went over all of the possibilities. Was the back door unlocked? Could he jump off the roof? Could he just punch a hole through the wall?

After a minute, he realized he had to urinate, and so he did. The stream came out from a strange place deep inside. He looked down and watched it flow from his new vagina. The relief was palpable, and lifted his mood a bit.

"OK," he sighed, "First things first. Get out of this room. Then get out of the house."

But the only way he could think to get out of the room was giving in to Rosemary’s demands to have a shower and get dressed.

"I’ll play along for now," he thought, "and hope that something comes up."


Paul held a small bar of soap in one hand and the detachable showerhead in the other. He was now completely clean, except for one vital spot.

The shower had been easy. Yes, his new body had responded somewhat to his touch, for it was more sensitive than the male body he had been used to. But he worked quickly before the stimulation could become too much to handle.

Paul looked down at his vagina, leaning forward to see over his new breasts. He hesitated.

"Let's get on with it." Paul quickly rubbed the soap over the curly pubic hairs, nearly losing strength in his knees as the soap rubbed directly over his clitoris. Next, he reached back to soap up his puckered anus, as he moved the shower spray to his crotch to wash the soap away.

But as he reached back, the soap slipped from his hand. "Damn." Paul reached down to find it, but then the shower nozzle also slipped away and clattered to the floor.

"Shit!" He crouched down, legs apart, and felt the floor for the soap, but just as he did, the soap leapt up and dove right between his parted ass cheeks! Immediately, it began to probe his anus, trying to wriggle past the sphincter muscle.

"Eeeep!" Paul squealed and shot up. Just then, the detachable shower head jumped up and aimed a hard, oscillating flow directly at his clitoris.

"Oooohhhh...." overcome with sexual stimulation, Paul’s legs gave out completely and he sank to his hands and knees, water splashing directly into his pussy, over his pussy lips, filling his vagina. The slippery soap was now slowly burrowing into his anus, gradually squirming its way into his ass. "Must... get out..." he gasped, as an orgasm rocked through his body, causing him to shiver and his nipples to jut out hard in the cool air.

The shower nozzle pushed in closer, beating his clit rapidly back and forth. Paul weakly pushed at the nozzle with his hands, but it easily circumvented his defenses. His hips rocked back and forth wildly, as each bathroom object attacked their respective hole, causing Paul to grunt and moan under the twin assaults.

Just then the wash cloth slipped from the door handle and attached itself to his left breast, kneading the tit flesh and rubbing the hard nipple with wet terry cloth.

A second orgasm coursed through him. Paul felt his mind begin to fade out, as he leaned against the side of the shower stall. A third orgasm was building.

Unable to control himself any longer, Paul placed a hand on his free breast and began to pinch and tweak his own nipple. His body was screaming for another orgasm. A second hand went down to his crotch, where a finger pressed hard against the slippery pleasure bud and began to urgently stroke back and forth.

Trembling, all Paul could think about was his need to climax. His fingers worked frantically at his pussy and nipple, the wash cloth was massaging the other breast, the soap was now thrusting in and out of his ass... and somewhere far, far away he was thinking "Stop! Stop now! You’re losing the battle for your body! You have to be strong..."

But he couldn’t... almost there... the third orgasm built slowly but forefully, sucking up his entire soul with its one overpowering need for climax...

But then the hot water ran out.

As it ran icy cold across his crotch, the fog in his brain cleared, and Paul somehow found the mental energy to lurch towards the door. He burst out of the shower stall and landed with a wet splat on the tiled floor. The shower nozzle strained after him at the end of its tether, spraying the bathroom walls.

Paul reached behind him, was somehow able to get a grip on the wriggling soap, and threw it back into the shower stall. He slammed the door shut, and held it as the soap and nozzle banged against the glass. He grasped the wash cloth, pulled it from his breast, and held it down with his foot.

"Shiiiit...." Paul gasped, leaning against the door, until eventually the banging stopped, the wash cloth stopped fighting, and, somehow, the water turned itself off. He looked through the translucent glass and saw the nozzle hanging limply and the soap on the floor. After a few more minutes, Paul stood up on wobbly legs and toweled himself dry.


Rosemary had given Paul a big, black plastic bag of clothes to wear. At first Paul thought they were just a random collection of Janice’s old things. But apparently Rosemary had other plans in mind.

This time there was no bra. Instead, Paul pulled out a true corset with bra cups built in. It still had hooks and eyes and as Paul put the corset around his waist, it pulled out of his hands, hugged his body and automatically tightened to the tightest snap. Doing his best to adjust it comfortably, Paul’s new breasts were pushed up and together, creating deep and captivating cleavage.

With a sinking feeling, Paul realized that the corset limited his mobility. He couldn’t bend over at all, and found it difficult to take deep breaths. Mercilessly it enforced good posture and so he was forced to bend with his knees to search the bag for the next item of clothing.

Next were the panties, simple white nylon with a cotton crotch. But they did have one unexpected, insidious feature, a seam down the center of the seat with elastic sewn in. Once Paul pulled the panties up his legs, they outlined each ass cheek, cupped his buns, and gently brushed against his anus. He reached behind and pulled, but they tightened right back into the crevice, intimately cupping his buttocks and spreading them slightly. Rather than concealing his modesty, the panties made Paul feel invaded and violated.

Third, black stockings smoothly slipped up his legs, stroking his feet, calves, and thighs as they went. At the top, the stocking tabs from the corset grabbed hold and fastened on, locking his legs into the stockings. He spread his toes in the nylon netting and marveled at his elegant feet.

"If only this could be temporary," he thought, "this might actually be fun."

After that, it was time for the half-slip. It slipped down his body and settled about the hips. Also nylon, it brushed smoothly against his stockings and over his pantied ass.

Then the underskirt and crinoline which were the reason the bag was so large. This came out as a mass of stuff, but eventually sorted itself out into a skirt of fine bunched up netting, covered with a simple cloth petticoat. It flared out widely, creating an effect of considerable bulk around his hips and legs, although the whole ensemble was itself quite light.

The dress itself was gorgeous. Of course it was strapless, exposing Paul's bare shoulders and slender neck. The bodice was made of beautiful deep maroon velvet, and it was tailored to every curve of his torso with a stunning sweetheart neckline that emphasized his ample bosoms. The skirt was made of changeable taffeta that slid smoothly over the petticoat.

As the dress slipped over his head, he thought that this might be the most beautiful outfit imaginable for his new figure and suddenly realized that it might not be much longer before his mind succumbed completely to his new feminine desires. The dress embraced his body like a close friend and the zipper slowly traveled by itself up his back, closing him into his new velvet and taffeta prison.

Without thinking, Paul took a moment to twirl around the bathroom, enjoying the sound of the skirts as they rustled against each other.

After that, the rest was anti-climactic. Of course, new silk gloves traveled up each arm, isolated and encased each finger individually and clicked at the armholes, locked in place. Then he stepped into a pair of silk maroon heels, about 4 inches high, dyed the same color as the dress. And there was one final touch, a silk ribbon, also dyed to match, which went snuggly around his neck with a small cameo in front.

Paul looked at his figure in the mirror and realized that Janice was totally gorgeous. "No wonder she misses her," he thought, understanding Rosemary’s twisted pain just a little bit. He took a closer look at the cameo. The face carved into the ornament was his old masculine face carved in a 19th century style with top hat. Paul looked at it and felt tears slowly roll down his cheeks. He cried softly, realizing how remote that face now seemed.


"Oh, don't you look lovely!" Rosemary said as Paul opened the door. She had been waiting in the hallway the entire time.

Paul jumped for the stairs but Rosemary quickly touched his elbow, trapping it and jerking him harshly back. "It won't be long now, dear," she said, "I can tell. You are looking more comfortable with your new body every minute. But, your hair is a mess! Let's fix that right away."

Rosemary dragged Paul into Janice's bedroom and sat him down roughly at the vanity. She welded his elbows to the dressing table, causing him to lean forward. Rosemary pulled out a hairbrush, and started to roughly tame his hair.

Paul's head was jerked to and fro as she brushed out the tangles and made it presentable. "Of course Janice's hair was brunette," she commented, "not this ugly dirty blonde color, but we’ll worry about that later." She parted the hair in the middle and brushed the sides out some more.

And then came the scissors. "Hey!" Paul shouted. His hair was the last part of his male body left over, and now it too was being tamed and feminized.

"What?" Rosemary shot back. "What are you going to do?"

"Please don't... why do you have to do that?"

"We must look our best!" Rosemary trimmed some of the locks away. "After all, you'll soon be entertaining company!"

"What! Who??"

"It's a surprise, now pipe down."

"No, no I won’t!" Paul took a deep breath, "HEEEEELLLLP!"

"I just knew it was going to come to this." Rosemary snapped her fingers twice and then touched his throat. Like turning off a switch, his voice was instantly silenced. Paul screamed and shouted and talked, but nothing but thin air came out.

"That's better. Now, let's finish this off." She cut his bangs to an even length, and then rubbed her fingers over his side-burns, which simply rubbed away, falling gently to the tabletop.

When she was finished, Paul looked in the mirror. Rosemary had achieved her purpose, for it no longer looked like a man's haircut. Instead, it was definitely feminine, though perhaps too short in places and unkempt in others.

The last remaining trace of his old body had been tamed and transformed.


Chapter 6: Jacob

Rosemary released Paul's elbows and turned him around in the chair. She pulled out some makeup and lightly did up his face. It didn't take much, just some powder and lipstick.

"Now you stay there while I give your old friend a call. He's waiting next door and will come over right away." She chuckled, "You two are going to have so much to catch up on!" Rosemary opened the door and stepped out.

"Now or never," Paul muttered, as he lunged for the open door. Unaccustomed to the high heels, he stumbled at first, but quickly got up and raced past Rosemary roughly pushing her to the floor. When he tried to take the stairs two at a time, a heel caught on the carpet and sent him tumbling down, skirts and shoes flying as he desperately grabbed for the handrail. At the bottom, bruised, but okay, he scrambled to his feet, gathering up the voluminous dress as best he could.

But by this time Rosemary had crawled to the edge of the stairs. "Stop it right there!" she shouted, and jabbed a finger at him.

Instantly, Paul felt the silk ribbon at his neck pull tight, cutting off his airflow. Gathering up the rest of his skirts, he ran in his stocking feet into the kitchen and tried the back door. Locked!

Paul raced to the front of the house and tried frantically to open the window, but it appeared to be painted shut. Quickly he picked up a table lamp and threw it against the window, but his aim was off and it just bounced to the floor.

He went for the fireplace poker, but just as he reached it, he blacked out.


"Oh," Paul awoke to smelling salts, and abruptly turned his head away. He had a splitting headache. He was back in Janice's bedroom, propped up against the headboard.

"Take this, it's aspirin." Paul took the pill and swallowed it down with water. "And now drink this, it will make you feel better." Rosemary gave him another, dark milky-colored drink. Paul drank it down. It had a thick, sweet taste.

"That should get rid of your headache, and also make you a little more compliant," Rosemary said with an evil grin. "Now, you just relax, and I'll go call your friend, Jacob Johnson."

Paul tried to protest, but found his voice was still magically silent. He tried to go after Rosemary, but all he could do was lean over and flop down on the bed. She closed and locked the door behind her, and Paul could hear her walk down the stairs to the telephone.

After a few minutes, the potion seeped into his body and gave Paul a nice woozy buzz.

Thinking about his situation, Paul felt what little hope he had slip away. He held up his hands and flexed the elegant fingers in the fine silk gloves.

"Those damn gloves!" he thought. "If only I had had some self control this never would have happened." He felt his eyes softly fill up with tears.

Paul felt the dress itself gently hug his body, and the skirts gently rustle and smooth themselves over his legs. The feeling was strangely comforting, this personal embrace by his animate clothing.

"Thank you," he said, as he hugged his own chest. Paul felt with his hands over the velvet bodice of the dress, stroking the curves. His tears slowed down, replaced with resignation, and a feeling that he might as well enjoy what he thought might be his last few hours of consciousness.

Gently, the panties cupped his pert buns, separating them slightly and squeezing. Paul gasped and reached down to his hips. The panties worked their way in between the lips of his pussy, stroking gently up and down. "Ohhh..." Paul sighed, surrendering to the sensations. It had been about 20 minutes since Rosemary had left and the potion had fully taken over his body, making Paul light-headed, giddy, and confused.

When Rosemary and Jacob finally entered the room, he looked up at them with a wide-eyed, horny innocence.


"Janice! My god, you haven't changed a bit!" Jacob stared at Paul. "I mean it. You look exactly like I remember. And you're wearing the same dress from the prom!"

"I'll just leave you two love-birds to get re-acquainted. Remember Jacob, she's still trying to get well, and she can't speak yet." Rosemary looked down at Paul with extreme pity and patted his forehead.

Jacob sat down on the edge of the bed next to Paul and held his hand. "Of course, Mrs. Carter. I'll take good care of her."

Jacob waited until Rosemary closed the door before turning to Paul, angry.

"You heartless bitch!" he hissed. "Where have you been? All this time I thought you were dead, and now, what, 25 years later you decide to come back... And now I'm forty-five, and... Jeez, I loved you, why did you leave? I thought you were dead but you've been alive all along? Where were you?"

Paul looked up at Jacob, mute, with innocent eyes. Jacob was really quite handsome, Paul decided, for being over 40. He wore a kind of rugged, out-doorsy look, with dark brown hair, a trim figure, and chiseled features. A silk glove rose on its own behalf and stroked Jacobs arm, comforting him.

Jacob's eyes clenched up as tears leaked out. "I know you can't answer me, but I had told you I loved you... and when you left and I had thought you died, I was angry and hurt..." Paul's hand continued to stroke his arm.

Just then, Jacob looked down. Paul followed his eyes and was horrified at what he saw; the glove on Paul's other hand had started to squeeze the bulge in Jacob's crotch. Paul grimaced as he could feel the limp penis and balls being manipulated beneath his fingers.

"Janice... what... what are you doing?" Jacob stammered, looking at Paul with puzzled eyes as his penis started to harden. Both of the gloved hands continued their stroking. "Janice... Oh..." he moaned.

Leaning down, Jacob slipped a hand behind Paul's neck, ran his fingers through his long hair, and then, with gentle force, pulled Paul's head forward until their lips met in a warm, tender kiss.

Paul's body, now fully under the control of Rosemary's potion, returned the kiss with enthusiasm.

"What am I doing?" Paul thought wildly, "how is this happening?" But then Paul felt his nipples tingle and a warm glow began to build in his sex. He sunk further into the kiss, enjoying it against his will, and further surrendering to the feminine body which had trapped his soul.

Paul's eyes flew open when he felt Jacob's tongue. He tried to jerk away, but the hand behind his neck held him close. Jacob reached a second hand to Paul's face, cradling it.

Just then, the undergarments Paul was wearing began their attack. The panties clasped over his sex and clenched around his buns, working their way deeper into each crevice. The bra cups on the corset began to squeeze his breasts, and then began pinching his nipples which quickly grew hard and swollen.

The onslaught of stimulation caused Paul close his eyes and whimper, surrending completely. The panties worked their way deeper into Paul's crotch and gently touched his clitoris.

Paul couldn't help it, he moaned, and in the process his tongue touched Jacob's. Jacob took this opportunity to French kiss deeper, and Paul, his concentration divided and his body under automatic pilot, responded. His tongue reached out, on its own, and pushed into Jacob's mouth.

"Ohhhh..." Paul sighed. Jacob’s tongue went deeper, tongue touching tongue.

Jacob moaned too, and at first Paul thought it was due to the kiss, but then he felt his gloved hand moving. It had left Jacob's arm and had unbuckled Jacob’s belt. Paul looked down in horror, trying to stop them, but the gloves now had complete control. Paul was so mentally weak that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them from undressing his male visitor. Next, they undid the snap on the pants and then slowly slid the zipper down over the length of Jacob's penis. Reaching into his pants, one hand began to squeeze and manipulate Jacob's balls while the other fondled Jacob's ass cheeks.

After a few moments of kissing and heavy petting, Jacob broke off the kiss, quickly pulled off his pants and shoes (but not his briefs), and clambered back onto the bed. Leaning back, he grasped Paul’s shoulders and pushed him down to his penis.

Paul's face was now inches from Jacob's crotch. The briefs didn't hide anything at all; the hard penis was clearly outlined.

"Now what?" Paul wondered, not having any idea of what to do. The silk gloves, however, knew exactly what to do. One was between Jacob's legs, lightly stroking the sensitive spot between his balls and anus, the other had cupped an ass cheek. Gradually, the gloves pulled his face closer to Jacob’s cock.

Paul pulled his head back, trying desperately to move away from the hard cock that was getting ever closer. But the silk gloves held fast. To make matters worse, Jacob, his thoughts now entirely on his own satisfaction, reached down, grabbed Paul's head, and turned it so that it faced squarely forward. Both gloves now reached and cupped both of Jacob's buns, and pulled Paul in the rest of the way; his face mashed against the hard penis; through the cotton briefs with his nose buried in the balls. Jacob thrust his hips gently forward, encouraged by the pulling and probing of the gloves, rubbing his penis all over Paul's face.

Jacob's crotch did not smell unpleasant. It was a musky smell, sweaty and richly dark. Paul's female underwear renewed their stroking of his sensitive parts, and Paul felt his own lust begin to overtake his sense of reason. "My face is mashed into a man's crotch!" he thought. "My god, I can't be enjoying this, I'm.... Oh god..." and just then, Paul felt a damp spot on Jacob's briefs. It rubbed over his face, leaving a wet trail. "Oh, no..." As it wiped over his nose and lips, he recognized the smell of semen, like that of moist jasmine.

Paul watched as the silk gloves slipped under the waistband of the briefs and slipped them down. Paul was now face to face with a hard, naked, penis... already leaking.

Paul just couldn't do it. He clenched his teeth and held back. But the silk gloves had other ideas. One reached down and gently massaged Jacob's balls. The other grasped the penis and pointed it directly at Paul's mouth.

Jacob groaned again and pulled Paul's head closer. Paul's mouth, clenched tight, bumped against the head of the penis. He looked up at Jacob, pleading, but Jacob's eyes were closed. He pulled Paul closer.

This time, the silk glove moved the penis all over, smearing the pre-cum all over Paul's beautiful, feminine face, nudging his lips, smearing his makeup, probing his nose, rubbing back and forth.

"It's as if I'm worshipping his penis," Paul thought to himself, "making love to it." All this time, Paul felt his own excitement building under the stimulating grasp of his underwear. Paul lifted his head a bit and the penis was rubbed over his lips, which were becoming slick and slippery. Jacob moaned again, he wanted more.

It all happened in a split second. The panties that Paul wore, which had worked their way deep into the crevice of his cheeks, made a point and penetrated his ass, past the sphincter. Paul's mind blitzed and entered a lust filled trance for just enough time to part his lips and moan. Jacob pulled Paul’s head forward and slipped his hard cock smoothly into Paul’s mouth.

Lust washed over his body and Paul gave up. With a hard penis in his mouth, his body tingling all over, and his mind confused and turned on there was only one thing to do; he started sucking, tentatively at first and then harder with increasing ardor.

At first the sensation was alien. It was alive in his mouth, soft and pliant but with a hard inner core. It was unlike anything he had had in his mouth before. As he got used to it, he discovered that he really enjoyed sucking cock.

"Is it me?" he wondered, "or my body?"

He ran his tongue over the glans, licked the thick fluid which seeped out of the slit at the tip, sucked just the tip, and then sucked it as deeply as he could. He gagged as Jacob pushed his cock in too deep. But even that was exciting. He felt deeply submissive and squirmed as his underwear continued to push him closer and closer to orgasm.

Jacob was ready to cum. He pushed down on Paul’s head and trapped his hard cock deep in Paul’s mouth, who desperately worked to keep his teeth out of the way and his gag reflex under control. Jacob jacked his hips forward, pushing the cock further down Paul's throat, fucking his face.

Paul's face was mashed into Jacob's pubic hair at this point, his nose buried in Jacob's crotch when he felt Jacob ejaculate. Paul tried desperately to pull away, but Jacob, oblivious to everything but his orgasm, held on tight. Jacob spurted three or four times, and as he pulled his penis out of Paul's mouth, Paul felt the salty sperm flood his tongue.

A silk glove grasped hold of Jacob's penis, still hard, and massaged the remaining drops of cum from it. Jacob had relaxed his grip and Paul was able to pull his head back. The penis slipped out of his mouth smearing cum over Paul's lips and down his chin.

Jacob lay back on the bed, exhausted. "My god, Janice, that was fantastic," he groaned. "I've been wondering for 25 years what kind of cocksucker you were."

Paul tried to moan, but no sounds game out. His mouth full of sperm, his head in the lap of a contented man, his face resting on a wet slimy penis, and his underwear clutching and vibrating against all of his most intimate and sensitive areas, there was nothing else he could do.

Paul swallowed Jacob’s sperm and climaxed... HARD. And as the pleasure coursed through his body, his consciousness slipped away.


After a bit, Paul slowly came to. As he struggled back it was as if he could feel the delicate fingers of a foreign mind invade his head, working to take control. "This is it," he thought, "I don't have much time left."

"Poor Janice," Jacob cooed, "You must still be recovering. I don't know what got into us, you shouldn't have been sucking my cock in your state." Paul looked up at Jacob and saw him staring down. A silk glove reached up and started to gently stroke Jacob's penis.

"What am I doing!" Paul thought, angrily. "Stop, damn it!" He momentarily succeeded in pulling his hand away, but gradually his strength ebbed and the glove resumed it's stroking. Jacob's cock started to grow.

Paul felt his other silk glove come to life. It reached down, grasped a handful of the burgundy taffeta skirt and pulled it up, exposing the crinoline underneath. It reached down again, pulling up the crinoline and the half-slip, exposing his stockings, garters, and panties underneath.

Paul had completely lost control. The silk gloves were controlling the agenda, and all Paul could do was watch and feel as the gloves forced his fingers to stroke over the lips of his pussy, pushing the panties into his slit as they stroked up and down. As the fingers stroked over his clitoris, Paul jerked with a sensitive jolt.

Jacob watched, amazed at the slutty display, as his cock quickly became hard for the second time.

"That didn’t take long," thought Paul.

The gloved hand released Jacob's penis and went to gently squeeze each of Paul's breasts through the bodice. It then reached into the bodice and pulled out a breast from the dress and bra cup. The nipple now exposed, the glove began to pinch it, tweak it, and draw circles around the aureole.

Paul watched, helpless, as Jacob reached down and started lightly stroking Paul's bare shoulders before reaching down to gently massage each breast, causing Paul to moan with need.

Meanwhile, the glove stroking Paul's sex continued its business with increasing intensity. Paul's panties were now soaked through with lubrication. Paul shook with small sexual tremors.

Jacob moved down the bed. First, Jacob stroked up the length of each stockinged leg, then he played with the garters and stocking tops, then the top of the thighs, and finally he stroked around Paul's sex, through each and every nook and cranny in and around his crotch.

Paul lay back, unable to resist the relentless stimulation. Both gloves, and now both of Jacob's hands, were playing Paul like a musical instrument displayed on the bed, each caress and squeeze causing Paul to quiver, moan, or sigh.

Jacob pulled the panties to one side and dipped a finger into Paul's pussy. As he was invaded, Paul had his second orgasm. A small one, it nevertheless caused him to momentarily fall back into a trance; a trance where he merely reacted and felt, and ceased to think.

Jacob stroked his finger in and out before moving up to caress the clitoris directly, causing Paul to violently arch his back and gasp. A third orgasm, stronger this time, hummed through his body.

Jacob decided it was time. He moved between Paul's spread legs, kneeling, moved the crotch of the panties to one side, and holding it there, rubbed the head of his cock up and down Paul's pussy lips.

"This is it," thought Paul, in perhaps his last coherent thought, "I'm about to lose my virginity to a man... Oh, Yes... please!"

Jacob pushed his cock gradually between Paul's well lubricated pussy lips. It was a tight fit but very wet. He groaned as he felt the grasping vagina clench around his cock.

The hard cock parting the walls of Paul's vagina went deep, to parts Paul had never felt before. Paul pushed against Jacob, forcing the hard rod all the way in, after which he squirmed around trying to push harder and harder against it, obeying an overwhelming, dark subconscious need for deep penetration.

Jacob pulled out and then plunged back in. Paul felt him bump up against his clit each time, and felt Jacob’s balls brush up against his ass cheeks.

It didn't take much longer. Jacob's thrusting became more urgent, and, far too soon, he pushed all the way in. Then with twitching spasms, he came deep inside the unprotected pussy.

Paul was very near, too. After he felt Jacob coming, he grabbed hold of Jacob by the ass and roughly pulled him in, not caring that Jacob might now be too sensitive. Paul ground away at Jacob's crotch for another second and then orgasmed - a fantastic electric orgasm which coursed through his body for a full 30 seconds or more, causing poor Jacob to whimper at the abuse his cock was receiving. Eventually, Paul relaxed, let go of Jacob, collapsed back on the bed and felt the final wisps of his mind slip away.


Chapter 7: Janice

It was early next morning when Janice woke up. Jacob was long gone, having been shooed away by Rosemary with the promise that he could see Janice again later. Also, Janice's prom dress had been removed. She was now wearing just a simple cotton nightdress and cotton panties.

Rosemary had been waiting in the room for Janice to wake up. This was it. Rosemary was certain Janice was now fully restored to her new body. Janice groaned and sat up.

"Janice? How are you feeling?" Rosemary rushed to the side of the bed and gently patted her hand.

"Mom?" Janice looked up.

"Sweetie?" There was a pause as mother and daughter both looked at each other. Janice struggled to clear her mind. It took a second before she woke up fully, but then suddenly the events of the past few days came back to her.

Janice sat up and slapped Rosemary hard on the face. "You BITCH!" she shouted, angrily. She roughly pushed her mother away, who staggered back against the wall.

"Janice, my baby!" Rosemary cried.

"Mom, I never had the guts to tell you this before, but you are pure evil. I hated you 25 years ago, and I despise you now. You trapped and murdered an innocent man!! Have you no shred of decency?"

"You’ve got it all wrong!" Rosemary cried out. "The murderer is the one who ran you off the road. That's who the murderer is, the bastard who deprived me of you to begin with!"

Janice smiled a wry smile. "Here's something else I've been meaning to tell you. Remember, 25 years ago when I got into the accident? Well, I was running away from home. I had had enough of you, the way you controlled my life and Dad’s, and I was getting out. So no matter what, you were going to lose me."

Janice got out of bed. "I'd rather be dead than to have to live my life with you."

Janice tried to take off the nightgown. But the nightgown grasped tight around her legs, refusing to let go.

Janice looked up at her mother with disgust. "Jesus Mom. Give it up. I learned your tricks too well for you to pull this shit on me." She brushed her hands lightly over the nightgown. It went limp and she easily pulled it off.

"Please, you can't go!" Rosemary grabbed Janice roughly by the arm. "I love you. Maybe it was wrong, but I wanted you back so bad. Can't you forgive that? Don’t you see? I did it all out of love!"

"Sorry Mom."

"Janice, please! If you leave, it will kill me!"

"Then that's what you deserve. Now get away from me." Janice roughly shoved her out of the bedroom, slamming the door.

"After all I've done for you! And now you hate your poor old mother!" Janice could hear her mother sobbing down the hall.

Janice shouted after her: "It's not going to work! I won't feel sorry for you! You're a murderer!"

Janice looked around the room for something to wear.

"Jesus, my prom dress? What the fuck's up with that?" For an instant she flashed on a memory of prom night, with Jacob. Her cheeks flushed.

Janice spied Paul's original clothes, lying on the floor. She picked them up and started to dress. The male clothes felt weird on her skin, too loose and coarse, but somehow stealing Paul's clothes after stealing his body seemed appropriate. "Might as well keep all his belongings together," she reasoned.

That thought caused Janice to pause for a second. She looked around the room and went to the closet. After a quick search she found what she was looking for. "Wow, and they never opened it." It was a knapsack, and it contained all the things she felt she needed to start her new life; a thousand dollars, her birth certificate, passport, driver's license, diploma, scrapbook, underwear, and other essentials. "Amazing. Let's get it right this time."

Janice left her room and walked down the stairs. "Man, this place is gross!" Her Dad had been the one to keep up the place. He was the only one who had cared about the family.

"Janice."

Janice looked up. "What?"

Rosemary descended the stairs, looking pale. "I love you. I'll make it up to you. Please don't leave."

Janice watched her mother approach. "I don't believe you. You make promises and you never keep them."

Rosemary reached out her hand and touched Janice's wrist. Janice felt a magic bond encircle and trap her wrist.

Janice looked at her mother with a disgusted look. "Please. You are so pathetic." Janice closed her eyes for a second, twisted her wrist, broke free of the bond, and then walked to the front door.

"NO!" Rosemary ran to catch up, stumbled to her knees, and, crawling forward, grabbed Janice around the ankles.

Janice reached out to the lock of the front door. She didn't need a key to open it. In fact, there were no keys to any of the doors in the house. All she had to do was touch the lock and rotate her finger, and the lock slid smoothly open.

"Goodbye Mother." Janice kicked away her mother’s arms, stepped outside, and slammed the door behind her.


As Janice walked down the driveway, she spied Paul’s car. Feeling in the pockets of the jeans she was wearing, she found the car keys.

"Hey! Janice!" Surprised, Janice looked up.

"Oh, it's you, Jacob."

"Hey, why are you wearing those clothes? Anyway, I was hoping we could go out tonight, seeing as it looks like you've recovered and all. Last night was just incredible, wasn’t it? Umm... what do you say?"

"Last night?" Janice played innocent.

"Yeah, uh, last night. Don't you remember? In your bedroom?"

"What happened last night?"

"Well, I... uh... that is we, uh... I came to visit and comfort you."

"Don't you mean that you took advantage of a delirious sick person, using her confusion to coerce her into degrading sex acts?"

"No! You started it! I mean..."

"You bastard." Janice took a step towards Jacob, and jammed her knee into his balls... hard.

"Fuck!" Jacob shouted, dropping to his knees, clutching at his crotch.

"I've known what you were *really* like since that night at the prom, you asshole, fondling my best friend in the hallway! If I could castrate you, I would."

Janice stalked away, got in the car, fumbled for a second with the keys, and drove off.


One week later.

Paul woke up with a splitting headache. He rolled over, buried his face in the pillow, and tried to relax until the throbbing subsided.

Several minutes later, he slowly sat up. He was in a comfortable, but sparse hotel room. On the desk was a plate with a small pile of burnt ashes, a glass with the residue of some strange inky-red liquid, and a note. As Paul rolled out of bed to read the note, he looked into the mirror above the desk and saw Janice.

"What?" He swirled around a looked behind him and then looked back at the mirror. With a sigh, he reached a hand to his face and saw the image do the same.

It was not a dream, he sighed. He was still transformed.

Paul picked up the note.

Dear Paul,

This is Janice. I had to borrow your body to escape my mother and now I've returned it to you.

Unfortunately, your transformation can not be reversed; you will always be a woman. For this I am eternally sorry. My mother is an evil woman, and I would recommend having her arrested, if only we could prove anything. As it is, I've punished her in the best way I know of, by leaving her forever.

But while the transformation is total (you are completely female, including all of the plumbing and hormones, sorry about that, too), the body is still yours and continues to have your DNA, your brain, your memories, and your reactions.

So, you have two choices. You can attempt to suppress your female characteristics, with plastic surgery, dress, etc. Or you can learn how to live in society as a female, either heterosexual or lesbian. It's your choice.

One final comment. I am unable to eliminate my spirit from your body completely without your help. My spirit is now sleeping inside of you, and to eliminate me completely, you will have to say the following, out loud:

"I will for Janice Kalriana to leave this body, permanently."

At which point I will die, finally, after having lived in limbo for 25 years, thanks to that bitch, my Mother. Kalriana is my spirit name, the one with which my spirit can be controlled.

Thank you and good luck,
Janice

Paul put down the note, careful not to say anything. He wanted to think about this for a minute. He looked around the hotel room, saw Janice's satchel and picked it up. Inside, he found Janice's scrapbook and flipped through it.

Paul wondered what it was that he was going to do. He would have to start a brand-new life and no one in the world could know who he really was. Or rather, they could know, but they'd never believe him.

The pictures of Janice smiled up at him, sweet and innocent.

After a few minutes he put down the scrapbook, ready to take the next step. He picked up the note, silently rehearsed for a second, and then said, out loud:

"I will for Janice Kalriana to join me in this body, permanently."

"Now what did you do that for?"

"Where are you?" Paul looked around, wildly.

"Hey stupid, I'm in your head."

"Really? Cool!"

"And you don't have to talk out loud. I can hear you when you think. Now why in the world did you bring me back?"

"Oh, wow. You can hear this? Janice, please, I need someone with me! I can't do this alone. It may be my body, but it looks like you, and... right now you are the only friend I have. At least, I hope I can call you a friend."

"Well... we'll see. Did you consider that you'd never have any privacy any more? That I will hear every single thought that you ever have? That you will not be able to block out my thoughts? That we might end up constantly fighting for control of this body?"

"Oh. I never thought of that... but I'm sure we can work it out. Maybe we'll take turns!"

Paul felt his body roll its eyes. "Oh right. Like you would control the body on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and I would do Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and we split Sundays?"

"For example..."

"Would you really go along with everything I wanted to do? What if I wanted to act like a total slut and fuck every man I met on the street? What if I wanted to smoke pot? What if I wanted a huge cock up my ass and another shoved down my throat?"

Paul felt his sex starting to warm up at the thought of the degradations. "Well, I guess if that is what you really wanted..."

"Never mind, I can feel that you want it too. Hey, isn't today Thursday? It's my day! And here's what I want to do."

Paul watched as a hand slipped down his body, completely under Janice's control. The fingers slipped into his panties between the pussy lips nestled there.

"Oh, Janice... Ohhhh..." Paul moaned. "I think this is the start of an incredible partnership. We'll make the best two-person single-woman team ever!"


Epilogue:

An excerpt from the Chronicle Standard newspaper:

"The one-woman magic act of Mistress Janice is more than an act. It is truly a theatrical event and an intensely sexual R-rated one at that. The acts are astounding, starting with 'invisible bondage' using members of the audience, followed by various escape acts, and ending up with a breath-taking finale where Mistress Janice comes on stage completely naked, and items of clothing from around the stage come to life and dress her, even as she tries to fight them off. It was the most erotic and stunning spectacle I have ever seen. And all along, Mistress Janice plays both sides of a clever verbal dialog between two personalities, a dominant female, and a submissive male, who are constantly fighting for control of the body with the man ultimately losing and having to do all the things he finds most embarrassing. The act is so high-energy that I find it amazing that she does shows each night, and twice on Saturdays and Sundays...."

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Comments

Oh wow

I started reading this and wasn't sure I would like it, but as I hit the middle, oh my.

I can tell you that I'm probably as horny as I have ever been. This was a wonderful story, and I've saved it to my local hard drive so I can read it again even if I don't have an internet connection.

I thank you so much for sharing this with all of us.
----------------------------
May the Stars light your path.
Joy

Unusual to say the least

And well written to boot. I remember reading a story about magical silk gloves some years ago and thought at first that this was a reprint of that but this does seem different. Throughout, there's no real certainty just how this is going to end but all the time there's a brooding horror at Paul's dilemma.

Thanks

Remember - over 99% of the world's population has more than the average number of legs.

Geoff

On second thoughts, I think this is the same story I read somewhere several years ago. Still like the idea and the rather dark concept, though.

Silky, Sexy, Sinister

joannebarbarella's picture

Wahoo! Very erotic and horrific too. It turned me on and gave me goose-bumps, too. Loved your twists at the end. Don't want to be a spoiler. Really enjoyed it,
Joanne

Feeding one's Imagination

The best thing about reading and storytelling is that one's own mind gets to provide the images. Sometimes this will take the reader, or listener, down paths never expected yet pleasurable. This story has done that for me, Thank you.

Nice twist on the demonic/spirt posession theme

horrific but with a novel twist at the end that made it work for me.

Not at all what was expected from the early parts, I was nicely suprised. I love twists on story convention.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Talk About Splitting Headache! :)

What I call a very apt personification of the Bibical description of marriage.
May Your Light Forever Shine

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Music to my eyes

RH, you are Music to my eyes and ears.

There are so few of us writing with this type of extreme, over-the-top fantasy these days.

The gloves, then lingerie... with finally the hankie finishing off out hero... what more could he desire? Orgasm your way to total femme... of course that has to work!
(I use the same enticement with my victims. How could you resist?)

Use the candy, it's quicker and your victim does all the work.

For me this is a thoroughly enjoyable story.

Keep up the fine work.

Wholeman
Yes, the weird author with the boob fetish.

Yes, the weird author with the boob fetish.

good read

i really liked it

This is a true story

PrincessMilissa's picture

This is a true story. I knew the mother and daughter personally. The man in the story I met 10 years after the story was told. Janice did recognize me and I was surprised to see her and have her recognize after 45 years shocked me. I have bee around this fucked up planet for at 3200 years, BTW that just one time line. The original time was about 65 years, 35 years was in the time period was from 1980 to 2015. I got booted to the year 2420. The went back in time 3800 years got stuck in this fucked up timeline with my crazy sister. Living my life again is weird but for what I have seen nothing is weird to me anymore!

"AIN'T KARMA A BITCH! OH WAIT! I AM THAT GOD DAMN FUCKING BITCH! NOW KISS MY FUCKING ASS ASSHOLE!, AND I MEAN NOW ASSHOLE!"
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