By Guest Writer: Mike
Chapter 9 – Part 3 of 3
I stood up and walked across the living room, ignoring the skirt. It took seven steps, but as soon as I made that final one, the skirt slipped past my hips and slid down my ankles. I tugged the invisible string as soon as I felt the skirt fall and watched as my blouse tumbled to the ground. I stood naked in front of Cynthia, one hand clutching my breasts and the other covering my naked sex. My face went flush and a pulse of pleasure radiated from my pussy outward like an explosion. My nipples were fiery nubs, hard and throbbing and begging to be touched or licked or pinched.
Cynthia applauded. “Amazing. Get dressed. Hurry.”
Cynthia drove my car to the same outdoor mall she had streaked countless times before. The same one she’d cut up her dress and had been ordered to work free of charge for two months. “Do you work here tomorrow,” I asked as she parked.
“No. Last Saturday was my last one. I’d been warned from pulling any more stunts,” she smiled more with her eyes than anything else. “But I’m not pulling anything, am I?”
Her body was, but did that count? She had the stone with her, I was certain of that. And with it she could turn me into anything: a man, a baby, a monkey? I still hadn’t tested the full power of the stone. I had never thought of turning myself into something other than an human. Maybe I was worried that if I transformed into a bird, I wouldn’t even know that I’d be able to change back. No, it was best to stay human and intelligent enough to know what was happening. But, since Cynthia could change me, if I got caught she could turn me into a baby and swaddle me in the same tiny skirt I was wearing. With the stone and Cynthia at my side I knew I’d be safe. “Aren’t you?” I finally answered.
She smiled, I looked good when I smiled. “This is going to be awesome,” Cynthia said. “I get to see what I look like.”
“I thought the same thing earlier.”
Cynthia took my hand and escorted me into the mall. I had my purse draped over one shoulder, my right arm locked in Cynthia’s left and my left hand kept a firm grip on the waistband of my skirt. We walked through the outdoor concourse. The sun had set and the white lights seemed to illuminate the walkway brighter than the noontime sun. Or maybe I was just nervous, knowing what was coming. My mouth was dry but dammit if my nipples weren’t hard and I felt a wetness between my legs. I was scared but I was excited, too.
“Okay,” Cynthia said. “Walk up ahead and give me a show.” She let go of my arm.
I looked in front of me. There were about two dozen shoppers, mostly women but a few couples looking in various stores. Two old men were sitting on a bench, one was reading the Wall Street Journal, the other was sipping a cup of Starbucks coffee. I didn’t see any children. Maybe that’s what Cynthia had been looking for, too.
I let go of my skirt and gripped the hidden string. I took the first step, feeling my pulse in my neck.
Another step and I felt the skirt slip a bit on my hips.
Another two steps. My mouth was dry and I was finding it hard to swallow. Cynthia was behind me, watching, waiting, anxious. I was anxious too, but for a totally different reason.
One last step and the skirt fell. I screamed, drawing even more eyes to me. I tugged the string, untying the knot at my throat. The light blue blouse fell to my knees, landing next to my skirt which was hobbling me. I panicked and took a tentative step. The skirt at my feet tripped me, sending me to the ground. My knee tore open, a trickle of blood oozing down my shin. I scrambled for my clothes. I kicked outward, sending my skirt into the shrubbery next to a busy bench. I screamed again, on my knees know, crawling forward, trying to get to my skirt. My blouse was somewhere behind me but I didn’t care. I had to cover up down below before I thought about the up above.
I tried to cover everything and succeeded in covering nothing at all. I reached for the skirt, nearly tripping again. I caught myself, hanging onto the concrete bench next to the shrubs. I gathered my skirt and slipped into it, pulling it high on my hips. I spun around, red-faced with shame, and looked at all people staring and pointing and laughing. The conversations I had heard as I started my walk had disappeared; people were taking in the show.
I saw my blouse lying on the ground. I raced to it, my heels calling even more attention to myself. I grabbed the blouse and held it to my chest. I couldn’t put it on with everybody watching. I had to get away and out of sight. Behind me, Cynthia was watching it all but I forgot about her. The only thing I could think of was hiding and getting dressed. I darted into the closest store and hid behind a rack of skirts far longer than the one I was wearing. I put on my blouse, tying the knot as quickly as I could. I knelt there, nearly in tears, finding my breathing coming in short, frantic bursts. I had been naked in public and the shame had nearly caused me to run away screaming, clothing be damned.
“That was amazing!” Cynthia said. I looked up to see my old body standing next to me, smiling a grin that would put the Cheshire cat to shame. “If that’s what I look like when I do it, well, no wonder it gets me going. Damn. Just damn.”
“That was the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done,” I said, finding my voice. My throat was tight, my hands were shaking.
“But was it exciting?”
She waited for an answer. She didn’t say anything else, she just stood there, holding me in her arms while I calmed down and waited until I formed a response. I thought about her question and after far too much time had passed I had to admit that it had been exciting. Terrifying, humiliating, but exciting.
“One more time?”
I looked at my face and at the excitement there. It looked like I was about to pop. “Where?”
“The food court.”
I should have known. It took me a few moments but finally I nodded. “Okay.”
I repeated my shameful display in the food court. Cynthia had wanted a bigger audience and she had it. She had me make a slow, lingering walk around the center compound, absently looking at all the little stores and the food they sold. It put me on display. My outfit was already scandalous; the short skirt, bouncing with every step and the tiny top that barely concealed my breasts and seemed to magnify my erect nipples. Just walking the perimeter of the food court made me feel embarrassed and on display. How could I cope with what I was about to do?
I finished the circle, feeling tense. My hands were shaking. I clutched the string in my hand, setting up the final tug. I spotted Adam, no, Cynthia in my body, sitting in a chair watching me with wide eyes and a stupid loopy grin. She was enjoying the show. Well, let her enjoy this. I started marching towards Cynthia, ignoring my slipping skirt. As before, a few steps later, the skirt slipped to my feet. I screamed and tugged the line holding the knot at my back in place. I stepped forward, coming out of the skirt as my blouse tumbled to the ground, flittering to my feet. My knees slammed together, one arm covered my breasts as I bent, reaching for my clothing.
I screamed again, not because I had to, but to draw even more eyes to me. If Cynthia wanted a show, I’d give her one. I picked up my clothing, clutching both pieces to my chest. My ass and cunt were on display, everything from my belly button south. I stood there, trembling in shame, feeling like I wanted the ground to swallow me whole, staring at my doppelganger staring longingly back at me.
I took a step towards Cynthia, holding my clothes to my chest the whole time. I made no effort to get dressed. That wasn’t what motivated me. My pussy was throbbing, begging to be touched. I felt every eye on me as a lingering caress on my body and I didn’t want it to end. The looks I saw were full of such emotion. I saw anger and hatred, sure, but I saw lust and jealousy too. Men wanted me. Women hated me. It was empowering and arousing and humiliating and far too many things all at once. I wanted Cynthia to see it all, to see what she looked like and if that meant dragging it out for a few, delicious moments, then that’s what I would do.
I took another step and then another. The murmurs around me grew louder and more agitated. I heard catcalls and whistles. I was called names, most of them degrading and even those angry shouts made my pussy pulse. I was the center of attention and I liked it. I saw the bright white flashes of cameras capturing the color of my face and my exposed skin. I saw more and more people rushing towards me, to see what the commotion was. To see me.
Cynthia stood up, closing the distance between us. “Get dressed,” she whispered, looking behind me. “Hurry.”
The urgency in my voice, coming from Cynthia in my body, seemed to amp up my already needy body. She was excited; I could see the bulge in my slacks, but there was something else there, too. There was a protective tone that made me feel warm and safe even though I was definitely in an unsafe situation.
“Hurry!” Louder this time.
I put on my skirt, rushing now. I stepped into the skirt and wiggled my ass to slide the fabric up to my hips. I knotted the top and hung it over my neck like a necktie in college telling your roommate that your shared space was occupied. The string behind my back could wait. Cynthia took my arm and pulled me after her. My shirt flapped, hanging like a towel, not covering anything but not falling away either. The strings hung down to my knees, dancing like flags in a storm.
“Come on,” Cynthia urged, “Security is coming.”
It’s hard to run in heels. Maybe most women can but they’ve had years of practice. I’ve owned heels for less than a week. I ran as best I could, with Cynthia clutching my hand and pulling me after her. I heard a scuffle behind me, but didn’t bother to look. What would happen if I were caught? People in front of me got out of my way. My breasts bounced and flopped and jiggled and were seen by even more shoppers and gawkers. I saw more camera flashes and felt the color on my face rise again. I was scared and excited and dammit, there went my skirt.
I pulled back, reaching for that tiny black micro-mini.
“Leave it! We’ve got to go!”
I hesitated, looking at the skirt, at the only thing that covered my ass and pussy. I glanced up, seeing two angry looking men wearing grey slacks, grey shirts, and golden badges. Shit. “Okay,” I said, not sure if Cynthia could hear me.
She tugged me again, guiding me towards the exit. I was naked down below and only had a small blue square playing peek-a-boo with my tits up above. I shuffled along, being led by Cynthia who was grinning broadly. The hand pulling me was warm and strong and confident. Cynthia led me out of the mall and across the parking lot. The parking lot was well lit but dim compared to those brilliant causeways inside the mall.
Cynthia kept pulling.
We raced to my car. Cynthia unlocked it with the fob and had it started by the time I was safely ensconced in the passenger seat. She drove away, leaving the mall and the two security officers behind. “Here,” she said, offering me the Wererock. “Fix that cut.”
My leg wasn’t bleeding but I could still the angry skin curled like shredded cheddar cheese. I took the Wererock from Cynthia and watched as my knee mended. I guess fixing a scrape was a simple task for a magical stone that could change men into women and women into men. “Thanks.” I gave her back the stone.
I smiled, or Adam did, or Cynthia. It was hard not to see myself as Cynthia and it was just as difficult to see Cynthia as anyone other than me. We tend to believe what we see and I saw Adam driving his car, with his half-naked girlfriend buckled into the passenger seat. It was a tad disconcerting and even more amazing.
Cynthia drove to her place. Her car was parked right where we left it. We parked the car and went inside where we played our parts. I felt the cock enter my pussy and savored the feelings that offered. It felt like I was being stuffed and yet each powerful thrust seemed more pleasurable than the one before. Cynthia was grunting and sweating and the smell seemed somewhat primal and that managed to escalate my arousal almost as much as those powerfully deep thrusts. As Cynthia I was focused on everything; the sound of our bodies slapping together, the smell of Adam thrusting above me, the sight of his eyes closed and his strong, tone arms holding my shoulders to the bed. Hell, even the weight of his body above me was exciting.
Cynthia came. I felt it inside my body, deep where I’ve never felt a thing. The feeling of Cynthia ejaculating inside me gave me a feeling of power far greater than I ever felt before. I did that. I caused that. Me. It was empowering and fulfilling. Maybe even a little bit scary.
Cynthia pulled out of me, leaving me a mass of sexual frustration. I reached for my clit, stroking it, rubbing it, trying to bring myself over the edge. Cynthia had come; wasn’t it my turn? I felt the need in my whole body. My skin was covered in goosebumps, my body was tight and rigid. My fingers were a blur, trying to send me over the edge.
Cynthia watched it all, watched me arch my back, watched my face contort in frustration, watched me angrily pound the bedsheets. “Maybe you should work on your makeup?” She laughed then.
I gave her an angry look. One usually reserved for opposing political opponents. That look made her laugh. “You’re my girl,” Cynthia said, sitting up and looking serious and sexy. Sexy? Was I sexy? Shit. “And as a girl, you have a lot to learn. Sadly,” She kissed my forehead, plopped back onto the bed, and pulled me into her shoulder, “one thing all women know is sexual frustration. That one we learn early.”
“I’m horny,” I said, sounding like a little girl.
“I know. It’s hot.”
“You can fix it.” The Wererock could fix it. Hell, that’s what caused it to begin with.
Cynthia didn’t cave. “So can you.” She yawned. “I’m going to sleep.” She kissed my head. “Go practice your makeup. You did good today. Really good. I bet you’ll have it down soon.”
“How soon?” God, was that whiney voice mine?
Cynthia plopped back down and closed her eyes.