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As if being stuck as your stepmom wasn't enough. . .

I had just gotten ready for bed. Fighting every urge to touch myself in the shower before settling into the most exciting lingerie I could find from your step mom's closet — something I started doing three days ago because it made me feel comfortable. And admittedly it turned me on and I liked the feeling of my nipples pitching little tents in the soft satiny cups of my bra as I read your stepmother's awful romance novels and tried to avoid dipping my hand underneath the hem of my panties.

I'm not sure what made me pick up the novels beside her bedside stand. I was curious about why a woman would read books like this, with their ridiculous covers of strong strapping men holding buxom beautiful damsels in their arms. I rolled my eyes as I read, though I was thankful for some light reading as a break from the quantum mechanics textbooks I had been reading this semester in college. The reading was light an uneventful, until tonight: when I came to the chapter where things started to heat up.

Oh god. Why was I so rivited by the descriptions? Something in me became startled when I read the most ridiculous sentance I've ever read. "Richard's love spear began to fill with blood and Angela could feel her furnace aflame with desire." I rolled my eyes. Love spear? And yet, I kept reading. Suddenly, however ridiculous it was, I could feel my pussy lips beginning to get plush and my clit standing at attention. My nipples seized and swelled, begging for touch.

But. . . I kept reading. Richard was such a strong and courageous character. Would Richard survive the stagecoach heist? His plans and quick-witted retorts inspired me.

As I read, I began to imagined myself not as Richard — but as Angela. I imagined myself in her outfits. In her situations. Exploring the prairie. And sleeping under the stars.

I realized I was like Angela. She was whipsmart and bold, while still retaining her feminine wile on the prairie. When she jumped on her horse to save him during the raid, I knew I would do the same.

God, if I were her, I would be in real trouble with a strong man like Richard around. I was dangerously close to giving in at the part where Richard told Angela to get on her knees in front of him. I wanted to rush my hand under my satin panties and settle my fingers into the plush, inviting folds of my pussy, they were already so warm and wet with arousal. I wanted to fuck myself as I read, pretending to be Angela, feeling my nipples firm up in my bra as I neared my climax.

Oh god. I realized I shouldn't be thinking it. But oh did I want to play. If it were the wild west, and I had been born a woman, all of it would be okay. I would totally go down on Richard while touching my pussy without a second thought. Oh god. . . No!

I threw the book across the room and screamed in a melodious cry, "No, no, this is madness!"

For a moment all was still.

And then I heard a text message come through on my phone. I looked at notification on the lock screen. It was your dad. He was away on business for another week. We had talked some, mostly to distract him while me and you tried to find a way to get my spirit out of your stepmom's body. I shrugged and flicked my long nailed finger up. The phone scanned my face and satisfied that I was your stepmom opened my messages app.

Oh, god. . . Oh, fuck. . .

My mouth immediately began to water. My clit stirred. Oh yum. . . Oh, god. As Angela would say, your daddy's love spear looks really engorged. My eyebrows raised in panic and pleasure. And every feminine urge within me eyed your dad's cock like a steak on a platter as blood rushed to make my clitty erect, a sensation beyond anything a cock could muster. My male psyche, interested primarily in sex with my girlfriend at college felt how ready my clit was for any touch and saw over the topology of my curvy satin covered body a form more alluring and presented than my girlfriend could ever muster and so my masculinity merely stepped aside, realizing deeply the next phase of my sexual satisfaction would require your daddy coming home from his business trip to find me ready for him. With his image like Excalibur gripped in my lithe fingers, my feminine nature surged deeply through me and took me over completely.

I saw the typing icon appear. Oh that's right. Send me more!

"What are you wearing?"

I dove my hands under the hem of my panties. I had lost all self control.

I held the phone high above me and gazed seductively into the camera — your father's eyes. Oh, god, what am I doing?

I took a selfie.

And I hit send before I lose my nerve.

He typed again.

“You better be on your knees waiting at the door when I come home.”

My eyebrows arched in pleasure and terror. Oh, fuck. I didn’t know what to say. I knew I should spend the week to find a way to change back. But if I disappointed your dad he wouldn’t send me any more photos.

My long fingernails clicked the screen.

“Yes, honey.”

.

.

Thanks for reading!

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𝘖𝘯𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 2