Thank goodness. Flynn is finally asleep.

You know — up until tonight — I've masturbated only six times in my entire life. And the last time I did was over two years ago.

It's complicated. I'm telling you this half from pride, because of the sheer painful blue-balled force of pure will it required, and half from guilt, because in my community to masturbate outside of the bonds of marriage is a sin.

I was waiting for marriage.

But I have a strong will, one that was waiting for my future wife, one well-trained in self-denial for years upon years. It's how I can even stand to shower these days in my new body without losing control.

I try to remember having a cock, but honestly, whether it was through my will or sheer neglect, I didn't play with my cock enough to remember it all that much. At the time, I treated it like a threat to my spirituality. And now, as diminutive as it is in comparison, my untouched clit throbs in desire with my heartbeat, looming larger than my cock ever did. And I have tried my hardest to ignore her.

Before everything "shifted", before one-third of the world's population switched bodies, I was a seminary student, a serious and devout one. The day it happened I was back from university, sitting in Flynn and Phoebe Anderson's Sunday school class. I loved their class. They're nice, open people, especially when it comes to religion. Ironically, the topic of the day was the transfiguration.

Flynn and Phoebe Anderson were a decade older than me. We were close. I've been a frequent dinner guest to their house. Flynn and I have played tennis and gone on hiking trips. We are fixtures in each other's lives. As for Pheobe: I always had a crush on Mrs. Anderson, one that I prayed for forgiveness for consistently, though lately I wonder if our urges are simply facts of nature that we layer with borrowed meaning.

Could there a paradise where things just are what they are — without words, without a label, without politics or even belief — Where things just are?

Paradise, as I'm beginning to understand it, would be without a storyline. Complete goodness is a world before choice. It simply is. As soon as people start choosing things, the mess begins. It's like a switch. It's either nothing or a mess, and if you think about it, both would be perfect on their own accord.

I'm slowly beginning to understand why Eve ate the fruit in the Garden — It was out of boredom.

Stuff happens and people build stories to explain it. For instance, inside of the walls of our church, The Shift never happened. Our preacher rails from the pulpit about the conspiracy. He rails about the growing number of UFO sightings, the vast switch of personas, the one-third of people who have found themselves in a new body. He calls it mass psychosis. He calls it evil. He calls it demon possession.

Finding myself in Pheobe's body has rocked my faith. Because: Why would this happen? Flynn has been patient with my struggle, but I think he's hesitant to step completely outside the dictates of our pastor. He has taken on a silent contemplation. I do see catch him looking at me from time to time, which makes me feel a little funny — though how could I blame him.

We've watched together, Flynn and I, from across our church sanctuary as my old self, now possessed by Phoebe, grows closer and closer to my girlfriend Annette. In fact, when I approached Phoebe (in my body) two Sundays ago, she said, "And how are you this morning, Mrs. Anderson?"

I drew back in shock, searching her eyes. "You can't be serious, Phoebe."

She shook her head. "Do not blaspheme against who you are, Mrs. Anderson." My eyebrows rose in shock. "By the way, I like what you've done with my makeup," she said, smiling deviously. "Every Sunday it gets better. You've been practicing. And is that a hint of a new bra under your blouse? Have you been shopping?"

Her words filled my stomach with dread. I thought back to the mall and swiping my husband's credit card. I mean — HER husband's credit card. I didn't know what to say, even as my old self pulled in close to me out of earshot of the other churchgoers and whispered. "Do your panties match, Phoebe?" I nodded nervously. Of course they matched. She beamed. "Show Flynn after church. He's a great fuck, by the way. Like the male version of your girlfriend."

Oh, god.

The scientists draw closer to a solution, one that can switch us back, but inside the walls of this church there are dictates beginning to work in contrary motion to these developments. Last Sunday the Pastor demanded all couples impacted by the shift who have been sleeping apart must return to sleeping in the same bed.

And this Sunday, he yelled out. "Those of you who have been taken in the lie of the Shift, turn to your partner." I looked at Flynn. "This is your spouse. They always were and always will be. Love them."

I could feel the ring on my finger burning. I felt bad, too, because I could see the forlorn look in Flynn's eyes, knowing his sex life had basically ground to a halt because of all of this.

In the United States, if you look at goodness and how it operates in our society, it is largely accepted at the edge of legality. It's not what's purely good: it's what you can get away with within the current rules. If you are rich enough you don't even have to pay taxes. Why? Because you have enough money to work within the rules. Money can buy happiness. . . and shell corporations in the Bahamas.

So this Sunday, as our pastor railed about our legally-binding marriage, I sat in the pew next to my accidental husband for three weeks and one thing shot through my mind. One I had been avoiding for two years. One that was suddenly entirely legal. It was like a traffic light changing color. I could feel my right foot in my red high heels push forward as our pastor's words hit. Flooring the pedal. Smashing the accelerator. I dug my pretty high heel into the blue church carpet, my pussy already beginning to swell, hugged in the sheer satiny triangle crotch of my panties. My nipples firmed up and cut into the pads of my bra. My headlights were on.

I know I am not Flynn's wife.

I know I was switched into her body. My plans for seminary and my life were completely diverted. But as a matter of faith, in the eyes of everyone in my social group, this is merely my Path — and that's even a stretch. In their eyes, I was always Phoebe.

For all purposes and legalities, I'm a married woman. Which means. . .

Oh, fuck. Finally my hand can go into these panties.

Mmm, that's incredible. My lips are so wet. So inviting. Guilt rises up in my chest and I immediately draw up the feeling of the ring around my finger. I have permission to play. Any way I choose.

I've never felt a real pussy before. It's even more incredible to feel it completely. God, my clit is getting so hard.

Fuck, I can finally touch Phoebe's tits the way I've wanted to. It feels so wrong to admit. So lustful. But the ring around my finger whispers otherwise.

I can feel it moving as I clutch my lovely breasts.

Women, in our church, get presented as temptresses. There is constant speak of modest dress and not enticing men to stumble.

There's a strange holiness to women being presented as the gatekeepers of sex, and yet they straddle this line of protection and temptation.

Now, as temptress, my fingers move. Now I feel powerful, outside the stifled self-repression required of being a man. Now I penetrate and spread my thighs to accept at once. I put my fingers inside of me. I must be honest with myself. I'm horny and have been, and I am desperate to fuck my pussy with my fingers. So I will.

It's been too long since I've pleasured myself. In mere moments I can only accept that this is how it's always felt. My ring says I can do this all I want. It says I'm a married woman. It's my green light.

Oh, god. That's so good.

I pulse my muscles and clutch my fingers with my aching pussy. I teach it how to be fucked. It's learning to crave it. My nipples thicken, and I pinch them wantonly, as my body floods with oxytocin, dopamine, and bonding chemicals.

If Flynn only knew what was happening right now right beside him. If he woke up and found me this way. I don't have to imagine what he'd do. I've seen with maddening fear the massive tents his morning wood pitches in our sheets every morning when we wake up for a new day. He's sexually frustrated from the drought in his marriage bed. If I roused him he would overpower me. God, how many times has he fucked this tight juicy pussy before I got here? Yes!

The sweetness of my pussy fills the room as I chase a crescendo I barely understand. I breathe its lush scent into my nostrils, fuck myself, and hold my moans inside, which charges every inch of my body like a battery. Even hearing Pheobe's soft moans from within upends me. I know when I come it's going to be a fucking earthquake. I want that.

It's dark. The sheets of Flynn and Pheobe's marriage bed hug my curves so invitingly. It's a room I had only seen once prior to the shift. At a dinner party at their house, I went to use the bathroom but the guest one was taken. "Just use the one in our room. It's down the hall."

I walked into their master bedroom, already jealous of the rings around their fingers. One day I would have sex with my wife. I strolled through the threshold and walked toward their bathroom, noting for a moment, on the chest of drawers next to the bed, a large mirror.

I wondered to myself what it had seen.

Oh, fuck. Suddenly, I feel it close.

I'm going come.

My thighs spread wider.

My eyes search the ceiling for what it all means. I'm scared, but I remember there's a first time for everything.

Even Pheobe had a first time. She entered her bedroom a beginner.

My pussy flowers around my fingers, making them wet to my knuckles. I writhe as quietly as I can and come in a maddening rush of energy that makes my entire body tremble and shake. I turn a wary eye toward Flynn. He's still asleep, but he's pitching a huge tent in our sheets. Maybe he smells me? I watch his cock throbbing with his hearbeat and move my fingers swiftly and come again, almost immediately. I know for better or worse he would probably understand. I shake again, eyes wide at what my body is capable of.

Yes, there's a first time for everything. I guess coming multiples counts. I bite my lip and make it three.

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Original author: BLQuick Sent to my by Cbrorigins.

Repost of a story already on this site to add most of the missing images.