This choice: "Missing a little something, Michael?" • Go Back...Chapter #6"Missing a little something, Michael?" by: Mr. George   Lying atop the bed in your favourite red satin pyjamas, you immediately take her hint. Your hands snap to your crotch, you can't feel your familiar bulge, little Mikey has vanished.
Snatching at the waist of your pyjama bottoms, you wrench them up and look at your crotch. The bitch is taunting you, a blurry dance of pixels blocks your view. Blocky and indistinct, she's switched on some kind of modesty filter. You try again, this time one hand holding the PJ trousers open, you reach for your cock with your other hand.
It's just as unsuccessful. As soon as your hand reaches for your cock, it vanishes also obscured by the pixelated effect, with only your wrist, forearm and upbeing clear. Your can't feel anything.
"Okay... okay... fix this." You yell to the open air. "Babs, I'm not a child."
The silence runs on, and you find a growing worry, has she finished with you?, is this her ultimate revenge?
You breathe a deep sigh of relief, when she finally answers. Even as that answer makes you snarl in frustration.
"You know, I always liked those PJ's."
Her words purr, and you find yourself recalling the first time you saw her wearing them. The way they clung to her bust, the buttons too tight, her bust teasingly visible between every gap. The swell unmistakable, even her nipples clearly outlined against the fabric. Oh, and the trousers, hanging just a little too low, the width of her hips all that kept them from pooling around her ankles on the floor.
The immediate reaction you had, and the long sweaty night which ended up with you both entangled in each others arms, sated.
"Fix it, honey?" her tone light, bright and breezy, you can just imagine her nose crinkling playfully.
"Yes. Please." suddenly you feel less certain you want this fixed. Your mouth goes dry, but you don't want to squirm, or plead... not yet, anyway.
"Did Barbie, wear your pyjamas, those pyjamas? Did you take my idea, and have another woman take my place?!" Her voice loud, fills the room, dreading what you suspect is about to happen. What you fear she'll do.
The memory of her walking in on you and Barbie, embedded in your mind. Doubtless, Barbara's too. You, buck naked, and Barbie, legs spread, in a pair of midnight silk PJ's. She found you with another woman, in your bed, with her in another pair of your pyjamas.
"I think, you're a sissy. You want a woman to dominate and control you. You want a woman to wear the trousers!" Her words spat out with fury. You know she's not listening, but you feel a mental snap, as something changes in the sim. Looking down, you see you now have a pussy. Your hand resting amid your trimmed and tidy forest of pubic hair. Your sex underlined, by the canyon of cleavage, and the mountainous breasts that frame your view.
Even as you snatch your hand back, as if afraid of some contagion or infection, you see your hand, your arm is slender and feminine, topped by manicured fingertips.
Planting your hands, you get ready to leap from the bed. A metallic chime draws your attention to your wrists, and you see handcuffs now securing you to the headboard of the bed. The same chilly metal presses around your ankles, and squirm imagining the sight you make.
But the squirming, the thrashing of your shoulders has a side-effect. Your new hair now blonde, and longer flicks back and forth striking your face like a poorly instructed shampoo model. But there's another side effect. An unwanted side-effect. The buttons of your pyjama top surrender to the inevitable, and you feel one of the girls burst free.
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"Ooohh. I love that pout." Barbara's words taunting you.
At the foot of the bed, you see your reflection in the make-up mirror. You shudder, as you see she's right. From your own perspective, it was impossible to judge how busty, how gorgeous you looked. The view down to your own cleavage, just too alien. But the woman in the mirror is a beauty. You can just picture her, with a cock between her parted lips, just completing the image.
The picture shatters, as you recall that you are her.
"Errr. Thank you." you answer, your voice sweet, and husky, a throaty smoker's purr. Easing yourself into more of a sitting pose, making yourself more comfortable. Your bust shifts at every moment, contantly keeping you aware of your new sex.
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You see your effort has worked, the woman, You. Have lost the sour pout, and your face is happier, your expression more inviting, more open. But the reflection drives home, just how busty you are now. Each proud titty, firm, and round, and as big as your head.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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