By Guest Writer: Mike
Chapter 11 – Part 1 of 2 – What’s in a Name
“Grab the stone. I want to try something.”
I leaned over the bed and pulled the Wererock from the pants Cynthia had worn the night before. It seemed heavier now. Every time we used it, it became something with more weight. How soon until it became far too heavy to lift? It was already meteoric in size, even though it still fit in the palm of my hand. It was the Quran or the Bible or something else larger than its physical size.
“Hold it tight. I want to do something but I need you to do it, okay?”
She sounded unsure of herself. Did she really think I’d deny her now? After everything that’s happened? After everything we’ve said and done? “Ready.”
“What’s your name?”
“Can you make your name Amy? My Amy?”
“What do you mean?”
She rolled over and placed her head in my lap. Her hair tickled my thighs. She looked up at me, her blue eyes showing a bit of doubt. I tenderly stroked her temple, smiling at her. We admitted our feelings the night before; they hadn’t waned in the morning light. Still, she seemed nervous. I sat there, the stone in one hand, and Cynthia’s head in the other. I watched her watching me. She was silent for a long time, just stating in my eyes. “What’s your name?” It came out as a whisper.
She nodded, robbing her cheek against my thigh, “Use the stone and make it so that your name is Amy instead. My Amy. I want you to know your name is Amy, not Adam. No,” she amended her thought,
“can you make it so that you’ve always been Amy. Can you do that?”
“can you make it so that you’ve always been Amy. Can you do that?”
Is that why she was nervous? Was this something bigger than anything else we’d done before? How could changing a name be bigger than changing sex or growing breasts? Was she worried that this… “You’re afraid this could change me; messing with the brain?” I said, completing the thought aloud.
She pursed her lips and lowered her eyes. I took that as a yes. Was she right? Was there a risk that I could change who I was if I tweaked my identity? But was I doing that? Was there a danger in changing ones brain entirely by tweaking one simple thing? But was identity simple? Suddenly, I was nervous, too. This was my brain, not a computer. I couldn’t just restore a backup if things went wrong.
I gave a faint tilt of my head. Clutching the stone I pictured my life, trying to imagine myself as a girl in those early memories and a woman as I got older. I imagined my birth certificate, watching a matronly nurse typing Amy instead of Adam as she had so long ago. The stone in my hand felt both hot and cold, cycling between the two extremes. I made the change, half-afraid that I couldn’t change back.
I put the stone on the nightstand, still feeling the fluctuating temperature in my palm. I didn’t so much as react to what she had just said.
“Yeah,” I responded, flashing a smile at Cynthia with her head in my lap. She was naked, as was I. We’d had fun the night before. I trailed my fingers to her breasts and cupped each one, right the right and then the left. The best breasts are the ones you can play with that aren’t your own.
“What do you want to do today?”
“Well,” I said, finding a nipple, “I believe it’s my turn to torment you.”
I lay back down and kissed her. Two women in love. But I wasn’t a full woman; I still had a cock. It’s something I’d grown up with. Because of it I never had to dress out in gym class and I never thought of going to a nude beach, but it was who I was. Something fuzzy seemed to mess with my memories. It was like I’d had one too many drinks. Something seemed twisted, like looking in a funhouse mirror.
Cynthia must have noticed. “What’s wrong?” She sounded scared.
“Nothing,” I said, sitting up now. “It’s just a feel a bit off. It’s like moving an eyepiece on a microscope and waiting for things to come into focus.”
“Did I mess up?”
“What’s your name?”
What a silly question, “Amy. Same one I was born with.” I gave her a look, then glanced at the stone, “Holy shit, it worked.” For a moment, I had forgotten what I’d done. Cynthia’s concern had me worried but at the revelation of what just changed took hold everything became crystal clear, like putting on glasses for the very first time and realizing exactly what you couldn’t’ see before. “My name is Amy. No, I mean, my name is Amy.”
Cynthia giggled. Sounding less concerned and more amused. “Everything’s okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just weird. My name is Amy, I mean it’s always been Amy. But that’s not right, is it. It used to be Amy. Shit.”
Cynthia’s giggle turned into a guffaw.
“What? Do you know how frustrating this is?”
“What do you remember?”
I thought about her question. “I know I made a change but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. You keep asking me my name; did I change that somehow? I did, right?” I thought about it a bit more. “My name is Amy, right?”
Cynthia shook her head.
“Wait here,” I popped out of bed and raced to my office. I had a small, fire-proof safe in the closet holding my passport, my birth certificate, and other important documents like the deed to my house and pictures of my grandparents taken the year before they died. I grabbed my birth certificate and carried it back to where Cynthia was waiting. “My name is, Adam?” Why did that sound so wrong? “It’s Amy. I know my own name.”
Cynthia jumped up and gave me a hug. “You’re Amy. My Amy. Oh, I love you.”
I hugged her back, looking at my birth certificate behind Cynthia’s back. I saw the writing on the page and while I knew it had to be true, that my name was Adam, it didn’t feel true. It was frightening, disconcerting, and a little bit amazing. “The stone did this?”
“Yes.” She stepped back and sat on the bed. “Now you’re my Amy. You can answer to Adam if you need to, like an actress playing a role, but now you’re my Amy.” She wore an impossibly large smile.
I loved the possessiveness of her saying my name. My new name. Cynthia had branded me as hers with the Wererock and while it scared me a little bit, I felt it brought Cynthia and I even closer. It felt as if I should be angry but I found myself smiling with her. I looked at the birth certificate one last time. It felt real and little bits of my past filled in the ones masked by the stone. I knew I was Adam and had always been so, but now I was Amy, and had the memories to prove that, too. I saw myself getting my driver’s license; I could see the dress I wore when the picture was taken. I knew that memory was false but it felt real and if it felt real, then wasn’t it? What’s in a name? Apparently, everything.
“What are we going to do today?”
Cynthia smiled, “What do you want to do?”
“Oh,” I smiled back, “Somebody said that I can torment them this weekend. Remember? I think she even promised.”
“I did, did I?”
I gave her a look and she grinned in response. “Yes, you did. I think, little-miss-show-off, that you need to be shown off.”
Her face lit up; I was speaking her language. “What do you have in mind?”
“I think someone gets turned on by sexual humiliation. And since you can’t come, I’m thinking I want to see just how turned on you can get. See how you like being all hot and bothered and frustrated.”
She purred, “Sounds delicious.”
Cynthia helped me dress. I put on a clean pair of purple panties and a matching bra. My breasts filled the cups perfectly. I donned a simple black sundress with white piping at the collar and sleeves. The dress had one button at the back of my neck. I did my makeup; it took a while but it came out damned near perfect. My speed was getting a little better, too. I slipped on a pair of sandals with a cork heel but thought I looked far too tall standing next to Cynthia so I swapped the shoes out for a pair of white sandals with hardly any heel at all. I looked stylish and sleek. A quick comb through my hair and I was good to go.
Cynthia dressed in the clothes she wore the night before. “Don’t worry,” I told her, “We’re going to your place first. I’ll pick out some clothes for you there.”
Cynthia blushed. She knew what was in her closet better than I did or maybe she was imaging that break-away outfit I had worn for her. Still, despite the color on her face she clapped her hands together and said, “Goody!”
We drove to Cynthia’s house. Entering the front room, I told Cynthia to strip. She was naked less than a minute later.
“You know,” I said, rubbing my chin for effect, like I was an evil villain from some Scooby Doo cartoon. “When I watched you streaking, I couldn’t really see the pink. Why is that?” I wasn’t expecting an answer, I just wanted her to know what I was thinking. “I mean, if you want to be a show-off, isn’t that what needs to be shown off?”
Cynthia was silent. She wore a nervous grin, half of her liking what I was saying and the other half finding it a little bit scary.
“Do you have any porn?”
“Show me what turns you on the most.” I grinned, “Yes, I’m going to use that against you. Unless?”
“Want to tell me the orgasm denial game you’re playing? Tell me how I can win and I’ll go easy on you today. If not,” I finished the sentence with a shrug.
Cynthia made her choice. She took me to her computer and browsed the files she had saved. She had about a thousand pictures of various woman streaking malls, or flashing bits of their bodies. There were photos of women bent over with their asses exposed and their legs splayed, revealing their pussies to the camera. There were photos of women wearing scandalous bikinis at the beach that were made up of tiny strings and not much else. She had about two hundred movies, some long and some short. She had a folder labeled: stories and a subfolder labeled: favorites. That looked promising. Cynthia was blushing as she climbed from her computer chair.
“Follow me,” I said, taking her hand. I led Cynthia to her living room. I pointed to the window that faced her quiet street. “Stand over there.” Cynthia stood naked in the front window of her house. I opened the curtains, revealing her body to whomever happened to be passing by. Cynthia watched me as I left the house to fetch two quarters from my car. I came back in and beckoned her to my side. “Stand here,” I said, positioning her in the middle of the window. I pushed a quarter against the glass, “hold this with your nose.”
Cynthia, her face scarlet, pushed her face against the window, trapping the quarter between the glass and her nose. She wasn’t just at the window now, she was pressed against it, her breasts pushing against the glass. Perfect. I took the second quarter and held it off to the side. “Hold this one with your knee.”
She parted her legs, opening her thighs wide. She held quarter in place. She was standing on one foot, balancing as best she could, while holding two coins in place, one with her face and the other with her left knee. The pose left her pussy slightly parted with everything she had on display. Her whole body took on a faint hue.
“Now,” I said, “are you sure you don’t want to tell me the rules you’re hiding?”
“Nope.” Defiant, even in her shame. I found that delicious and felt my cock twitch inside my purple panties.
I stroked her ass, feeling the softness of her body. “Good. I’m going to watch a few videos, look through some pictures, maybe even read a few of those stories of yours. I’m sure I’ll come up with some good ideas. You just stay here and think about the display you’re putting on. After I get some ideas, I’ll find you something to wear.”
Cynthia shifted, but the coins stayed put.
“You know, imagine if your neighbors saw you. You know them, right? They’re not strangers. Surely it must be more humiliating to show your naked body to people you know. Tell you what, you can come find me when you’re ready to spill about your game. Deal?”
Cynthia remained silent. She was concentrating, working on her balance. I couldn’t keep her there, standing on one foot, for long. Could I? I did give her an out. I wondered which meant more for her, keeping my orgasm in her control or keeping her dignity. I’d find out soon enough.
I left the house long enough to snap a picture of Cynthia’s blatant display. Her breasts were pressed against the glass, flattening them. I could make out the cleft of her pussy but couldn’t really see much of the delightful pink from where I stood. Still, she knew what she was doing and my words had to make her wonder what would happen if her neighbors did happen to walk by. The street was deserted, but would it stay that way?
I went back inside and did exactly what I said I’d do. I watched a couple of videos. I saw two young girls standing on a gravel road surrounded by trees. They took off their clothes and threw them into a fire, one piece at a time. The video ended with the two girls, one blonde, the other a fiery redhead, walking away from the smoldering ashes of their clothing, forcing them to make their way back home with nothing available to cover up with. Another video showed a young girl doing naked cartwheels in a deserted hallway. The camera flashed around to reveal shoppers going about their day inside a busy mall. A third video showcased a trio of girls, all blonde, playing strip poker. That video ended with the first girl naked having to cut her own clothes up with a pair of scissors. Maybe these videos fed Cynthia’s imaginary mistress. Now the videos would give me ideas.
I started perusing the stories. Some were short, others were longer than some novels I had read. I didn’t have all the time in the world so I skimmed quickly. I glanced at the clock, fifteen minutes. I guess Cynthia could wait a few more. I kept reading, finding myself getting aroused at the words even more than the pictures. Who knew that written erotica could be so exciting?
I turned off the computer and looked in on Cynthia. Her legs were still parted but her left knee had dropped, her foot just above the floor. It looked like her body was trembling under the strain. I had to give her credit; the quarters were still pressed against the glass. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me?”
“No.” She sounded stressed, like she wasn’t having fun. That wouldn’t do. I cared for her far too much to let that happen. I returned to her side and took the quarters away. “Okay,” I said, “let’s get you something to wear.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, stretching her arms skyward and arching her back.
“Are you okay?”
And she was. I could see moisture on her thighs. She was more than okay; she was soaking wet. “Did you like that?”
“It was exciting but at the end it was hurting my back.”
“You could have ended it,” I said, plying her with reason.
“Not on your life. Now I want to make it even harder for you.” She stuck out her tongue. “Pun intended.”
I told her about the videos I watched and about the snippets from the stories I had read. She told me about a few of her favorite stories that I hadn’t gotten to and promised she’d transfer the files to a thumb drive I could take with me so that I could read them all.
One thing I had read needed to be done next. “Sit over there,” I said, pointing to the gray recliner that sat opposite the couch. Cynthia took the seat. “Perfect. Now, drape your legs over the armrests.” Cynthia complied, parting her thighs. Every inch of her was open to my gaze. “Spread your pussy, open it up.” Her fingers dropped. She pulled herself open and stroked the wet flesh. When she took her hand away I could see every silken fold and the engorged flesh of her arousal. She looked sexy and beautiful and just a tad ashamed. “Where’s your phone.”
“In my purse.”
With her permission, I grabbed her phone and after she unlocked it, I snapped a picture of her nakedness, framing the picture from her knees to her nose. I left her eyes and head out of the picture. It was a smutty picture of a beautiful woman. I handed Cynthia her phone. “What do you see?”
“A beautiful, sexy woman,” I corrected her. “Who should we share that picture with?”
She shook her head, her face losing some of its color. “Nobody!”
“Why?” I teased, “too humiliating?”
She glared at me.
“You’re going to send this picture to somebody.” I took the phone from her, looking through the people she’d texted the most. “Who’s Rita?”
“My best friend. Don’t you dare.”
“What, you don’t want your best friend to see you like this?”
I skipped over contacts like “mom”. Some contacts were easy to dismiss others had potential. “Who’s Derek?”
She made a face, one contorted in disgust. “He’s the guy that made you quit my job. He’s asked me out about two dozen times.” She looked repulsed now. “He’s gross.”
That made me laugh. It was perfect. I handed her the phone. “Derek or Rita. Your choice. One of them gets that picture. You don’t have to send anything with it, just that photo. I’ll give you until I decide what you’ll wear when we go out. If you can’t decide, I’ll send it to both.”
She pleaded with me, begging with her words, her eyes, and her body. She really didn’t want to do it, but her nipples were hard and one hand kept sneaking between her thighs. The thought of it enflamed her desire to be sexually shamed. It was her biggest turn on and just the thought of what I wanted her to do was causing her to tremble with a sexual hunger.
I turned to her closet, looking at the things that had the least amount of fabric. “Time’s ticking,” I teased, throwing a jean skirt onto her bed. I began looking at tops next. I found a tiny white tube top tinged with pink jagged lines. It must have been one that she wore often, the cotton was almost transparent in a few places. It was tiny; I couldn’t wait to see how it fit with her Wererock enhanced tits. That top must have been tight when she was tiny; now it would be blasphemous.
The tube top landed on the skirt. “Almost done?”
“No, dammit, I don’t want to send it.”
I stopped my search, looking at her. I began a serious conversation that she quickly put a stop to. “Rita. I can’t send it to Derek. I just can’t.”
I watched at Cynthia texted that obscene photo to her best friend. I wondered what the reply would be.