Continued from Part 1 (which I have added to and expanded) Series Link

I'm your stepmom. Your father will be home in a week. And I woke up this morning feeling woefully unprepared.

Part of me pretended I didn't know what I was up to as I spent time putting on makeup and dressing up to go to the grocery store. I told myself I would still find a way to change back.

But the romance novels I'd been reading and the photo your dad texted me last night had laid waste to the male nature that had carried me up to this point in my life.

A curvy new creature was now the new sentinel walking the hallways of my sexuality. Her once male thighs had been pulled apart. A furnace burned in her tummy as she walked a fertile walk across the new ground she now controlled.

Though a rookie, for she had been banished from participation in my sexual decisions since the beginning of my existence, she now wandered freely searching for any remaining trace of my masculinity, aroused to use any means possible to eradicate it for good. She had one goal. To make sure I ended the week on my knees in front of your father. To ensure I was ready to please him. He would do the rest. She would employ any feminine whim to ensure it, including Denial.

It would be good for me to go shopping. She called to me, get a shower, get your lovely tits in a bra and pull a thong into the crack of your ass, find a dress and let’s get some fresh air. Your stepmom needs to eat healthy. . .

Under the pretenses of nutrition, I ignored what I knew deep in my newly reformed pelvis: I would need to develop new skills in a short amount of time if I were to give him a warm welcome when he arrived home from his business trip.

I strolled the house in my summer dress, pleased my balls were no longer in the way, my thighs feeling lush and extravagant. I realized that — fortunately for me — my girlfriend had been a good teacher. I could call to mind all the lovely ways she regarded my arousal in the last years. But I had to face something. Your father was a much bigger animal.

Before I hopped into her luxury car to drive to the store, I retrieved your stepmom's phone from my purse and looked at the pic. God, it bothered me that I found it so suddenly attractive. I had been checking the photo all morning. In disbelief. In mind-bending hunger. The ascendency of my girlfriend's breasts and pussy had been toppled last night. And in their place your father's cock had been erected, strong and proud, the proper compliment to my new receptive sexuality. My mind twisted as I gazed upon throbbing male anatomy and felt myself get wet. I admired its veiny topography imagining it a coded message intended for me that only my pussy could receive. One that would remap me. The only thing left was to be plugged into and recoded for good. My clit ached. I was already thinking with my pussy.

I could feel a phantom ache growing in my jaw as my feminine hands guided the steering wheel through our town. My tongue moved in consideration. I kissed the air occasionally.

I knew I would need practice. And I knew practice would take me closer to being your stepmom for good. I guess I could always go back. I licked my lips and pushed them together. I guess.

There was an inviting feminine voice within me, which I recognized as my long-dormant feminine nature saying I should take this very seriously. Your dad's gift was not something I should be flippant with. I walked the vegetable aisle with a loose jaw, measuring in my mind, wondering if I could open my mouth wide enough. There was a growing warmth in my thong, considering each one, finally settling on what I could surprise was the perfect effigy of my new deep craving.

It made me wet to watch the cashier settle it on the scanner. She weighed it. And bagged it.

I drove home, my thighs shaking. If your dad wants me to meet him on my knees, I need to know I can take him like your stepmom. No. . . not like her. Better than her.

I knew I needed to get into character. I had found the box earlier deep in her closet. It had been emblazed with a permanent marker:

BRIDAL LINGERIE

I slipped it on, trying to ignore how absolutely plush and wet I was. I did my hair and makeup. And I licked my lips and walked to the kitchen to fetch it.

I stood a moment considering, and then I realized. . .

I looked toward the hallway leading to the foyer of the home where I would meet your father when he arrived in a week.

I should practice there.

I strolled to the doorway, wielding my purchase like Excalibur, desperate to take my place at what would become the threshold of my femininity in a week. I settled to my dainty feminine knees and held my tits high in display, imagining the door swinging open.

I opened my jaw wide for a moment. I thought to myself, "What would my girlfriend do?" And then I noted, I shouldn't stop there. I should improve on her. Perfect her teachings. To be better than her. Better than your stepmom. I would have to really get into character to do that.

Well . . . My mouth is watering and I know one thing.

Practice makes perfect.

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