Fitted in your stepmom's satin lingerie. Tucked into this lavish master bedroom. In sheets awash in your dad's pheromones which dance undetected in my nostrils reinforcing my growing bond to him.
I drift to sleep and my mind begins it's secret work. What I learn isn't merely stored within my synapses. In sleep, it's reshaped, retold, and delicately etched; forged with diamond tools made of whispers and sensation. Memories are played back. The ones that matter are strengthened, and the ones that don't are left to dissolve.
A new curator is loose in my mind. Her work becomes easier in the nighttime realm. Unlike my prior male psyche, she writes her memories in stone.
Her lithe and careful hand introduces new order to what has been torn apart. My towering masculinity, that only days ago lie fallen and in shambles within my psyche, has been sifted away. She's cleaning up, tidying the place. Wandering the hallway of my being and checking behind every door. There is no place for my manhood to run. The order she creates when I sleep plays out when I wake and find myself just a little bit better at being your stepmom — seemingly: naturally.
I'm certianly complicit. I walk the day giving her fuel for the fire.
Every day something happens to enflame me. I step too far. And then, shaking over and over again in climax after maddening climax I return to clarity. There are walks of shame, but now acquainted with the feminine within me, I find them to be rhetorical. Certainly I know I should stop experimenting. But also know I've never come so hard in all my life.
When I slip, I try to buckle down. I put on something conservative and attempt to focus on my old life. For instance: doing my thermodynamics homework.
It's hard to concentrate. I'm prone to distraction. It's hard with my cleavage in my periphery. I could have sworn this top fit me yesterday.
I could wear a baggy t-shirt. Or slip into one of my husband's dress shirts — excuse me, what I meant was: your dad's dress shirt. But I don't.
I don't.
And then your dad texts me another photo of his luscious, undeniable cock. And when that happens, an altogether different heat transfer takes place, and I can no longer study.
As if learning to worship your daddy's cock with a cucumber wasn't bad enough.
We had phone sex last night.
Passionate, dripping, wild phone sex. He texted me the most charged things during his meeting. God, he's not even touching me yet and he fucks me better than my girlfriend. The things he says to me — the things he shows me — make my pussy bloom into a plush wet inviting throbbing sheath of desire.
And then I shirk my studies. He gets me reading. I dig into your stepmother's cabinets, and pick out her best.
God, I love romance novels. And I am loving this new book so much. This one is soooo nice. Soooo romantic. It's wonderful. It's about an Incan princess.
Chita is so strong. So direct and seductive. I know why Auqui wants to plow her so. Better than that, she asks to be fucked. The description of Auqui in this book twists me up in knots. He's muscular and tall. God, I'd tell him to fuck me, too — and the descriptions in the book are so good they have me imagining it. I plunge my fingers into my pussy and my toes curl in our soft sheets. In the heat of the moment I send photos to your dad. Have I lost my mind? I've started feeling like a princess. His princess.
I know I should stop. Because I'm acting like someone who wants to stay. Right here.
So I double down on my efforts to cool my passions.
Why does the male world have to be so heavy? It hurts my back.
Why does even the slightest hint of the feminine twist me up inside. I pretend to study hard, but my clit is what's throbbing hard in this feminine active wear that hugs my tits so invitingly.
They feel bigger.
Something is going on. I'm not fitting my bras in quite the same way the last few days. I overflow. I'm a bit worried. Luckily there were a few larger ones in your stepmom's lingerie cabinet.
I've gone up a size. And I'm trying not to let it worry me. I've been walking down this path in denial. But perhaps something of my old self is being mined as I do that. Perhaps my masculine spirit is being tapped into at a deep level, and sucked dry.
I feel as hopeless as Chita did when she arrived at her village too late and found it burning. I guess if that hadn't of happened she wouldn't have met Auqui. She would have never tasted his cock or felt his thrust. And she definitely wouldn't have taken the great journey south to find the healing elixer of life.
Sigh. . . Being a female is just too good. And I grow fearful: because having bigger tits makes no complaint with me.
Oh, I give up.
I can't study anymore today.
There's too much I have to process. I need to get out of the house. I've been cooped up here too long. Maybe that's what's driving me mad. Some fresh air would probably set my spirit straight. Who knows, maybe it's what I need to be be back in college as a guy studying thermodynamics happily.
I think I'll go shopping.
It took a long time to get ready. A few hours with showering, moisturizing, doing my makeup, and picking an outfit. My closet is a mess. Your stepmom's walk-in closet is packed with clothes. I tried on so many outfits before deciding on this one.
But maybe she could use a bit more? It's a new season. My body is a perfect palette for most any clothing.
This is crazy. No one has any idea who is inside of my tight fucking body. I've caught a few men looking at me. Their gaze pours over my tight curves. The way my clothes hug my body make me feel sculpted from air. I'm exposed in all the right places. Cut in all of them, too, my crotch is sculpted so nicely. So absolutely cockless. I like when I catch the men's gaze settling down there — and it's making me wet. My thighs are forever parted, I've got a cute little gap, and my pussy is positively singing for someone's attention.
I need to use the ladies' room.
They definitely look bigger. Something really is happening to my body.
They're heavier. I can feel them on my back.
Geez, it's much nicer in here than the men's. More social. More warm. Definitely cleaner.
I had a nice chat in line, found a stall, and I sat down and peed. I don't really miss standing up that much. Not when I look like this.
Hmmm. They definitely look bigger. I guess I can worry about my tits later. Onward!
No. I have enough moisturizer and makeup to feminize a small army. . . hold on —
Well, hello! . . .
We've hit the fucking jackpot.
I was going to get back to studying, but I can't pass up some new heels. But i should probably ask your dad.
I text him "baby, can I buy some new shoes at the mall?" I click send, half hoping he'll send something alluring back. Quickly I receive. "Knock yourself out."
Don't mind if I do.
And while we're at it, a new purse is in order, too. $850 on sale. What a deal. And it's going to go with so many of my new outfits.
Oh, fuck. That was so much fun!!! To think a hard study day could be made light with a few hours of shopping. I fucking loved it. I need to do this more often.
Mmm, I'll sleep so soundly tonight.
So deeply.
I've learned so much today.
I've earned my rest.
Tomorrow I'll wake up and figure this out.
.
.
Thank you for reading.
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