Tuesday, May 23, 2017

The Wererock - Chapter 13 – Part 2 of 3

The Wererock
By Guest Writer:  Mike
Chapter 13 – Part 2 of 3

“We have to,” she said to me. “Derek can’t see that picture.”
                I bowed my head. I had to protect Cynthia as best I could and if she couldn’t let that photo go to Derek then I wouldn’t let it happen, either. “Okay.”
                “Get the Wererock. You know where it is.”
                “Your panty drawer,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
                “Oh, you don’t need that,” Rita piped in. “Panties are forbidden for you, Cynthia, my sweet. That’s your first rule. One of many. Now, what’s the rule?”
                “Panties are forbidden.” Her thighs shifted together as she said the words; she opened them again afterwards. Just saying that aroused her.
                “Right you are. Only you,” she looked at me, “can wear panties. I bet you’re wearing some right now, aren’t you?”
                I answered with a nod.
                “A slut,” she laughed, “and a crossdresser,” Rita shook her head, taking that in. It’s funny, I didn’t consider myself a crossdresser. That was new, brought on by Cynthia and the Wererock. “So, tell me, how did you make these?” She poked my naked boobs again. “You said something about a rock?”
                I fetched the Wererock, feeling like this untenable situation was about to get much worse. Was Cynthia thinking clearly when she told me to get it? I had met Derek, I understood her reluctance to share any intimate photos with that slimy man, but she and I both knew the power of the Wererock, did we really want to give that power to someone else? I tried to think of a way to keep Cynthia safe and her modesty intact but nothing came to mind. I felt like I was a fish caught on a hook, struggling against the pull that would ultimately win.
                Cynthia was still sitting in her humiliating pose. Her head was hung so I could only imagine the color on her cheeks. Rita was staring at her, smiling, “I couldn’t imagine sitting like that. Maybe I should make it another rule?” Rita was toying with Cynthia; taunting her with her words.
                Cynthia shook her head but said nothing.
“Is that it?” Rita asked, turning to me as I came back into the room.
“I call it a Wererock. Like werewolf, only rock, because it’s a rock.” It sounded dumb even as I said it.     
“What does it do?”
I clutched the stone in my hand, feeling its hard, icy surface. I shut my eyes and a moment later my long hair, styled in a woman’s cut, disappeared. I made my boobs fade to nothing, leaving me standing there before Rita and Cynthia looking like I used to look, only now, with a shaved chest, holes in my ears, and a bit of makeup on my face.
“Holy shit.”
Cynthia spoke next, “You have to be holding it for it to work. Amy couldn’t hold the rock and make a change on me. If you held it, you could only make changes to you.”       
Rita held out her hand, “Give it here.” I gave it over reluctantly, feeling a loss that physically hurt. Cynthia and I had shared it; Rita took it away. I felt like a child that had to give back a puppy because their younger sibling had an allergy that hadn’t been known. You love and then you lose in the span of an hour. I felt that loss.          
Rita made her hair longer; she made her hair shorter. She made her boobs bigger and then returned them to their normal size. She giggled and then clutched her crotch, feeling the newness of what she now found there. A moment later she dropped her shorts and pulled down her purple panties. She was sporting a massive cock, like something you’d see on a horse. Or a whale. She made it disappear, returning her body to what I assumed was normal. She pulled up her underwear and shorts and fell back onto the couch. “This this is amazing. What else does it do?”               
“Isn’t that enough?” Cynthia asked.
Rita glared at Cynthia, “Do you want to do that photoshoot?”
“Then what else does it do?”
Cynthia explained how it could change one’s thoughts and how she had instructed me to use the stone to make me believe my name was Amy. That sounded wrong; my name is Amy. She told her about the triggers it could activate so that even without the stone changes could be made but only if they’d been preprogrammed beforehand. She told her about the games I’d played when I first found it, including how I’d shipped the rock to myself via FedEx, trapping me in that first form. Rita absorbed everything Cynthia said, taking it all in. She believed it instantly; the Wererock told her to. I knew that even if I didn’t know it.
“This thing is amazing.” She tossed the stone back to me. “Fix yourself, you look ridiculous.”
I caught the rock and regrew my hair and once again made my chest the larger size that Cynthia preferred.                
“Amazing,” Rita reiterated. “How much have you two used this thing?”
“Hardly at all,” I admitted.  “Just our boobs. That’s about it. My hair, we made my hair longer.”
“That’s it? Seriously. I doubt I’d stop playing with the thing.”
Hadn’t she already given the stone back to me? I guess her idea of playing with it was far different than mine.
“Turn yourself into Brad Pitt; can you do that?”
Clutching the stone I turned myself into a facsimile of Brad Pitt. I didn’t know exactly what he looked like, but I had seen a few of his movies. Rita wasn’t satisfied and using Cynthia’s phone she called up a picture of Brad so that I could make a few tweaks to my appearance. On Rita’s command, I gave the stone to Cynthia and a moment later she was Angelina Jolie. “God, this is amazing. I’ve got to see you two kiss.”
Brad kissed Angelina, well I kissed Cynthia. It felt right and weird as well. Her lips felt different, our heights had changed, but in my mind, I was still kissing the woman I loved. It was like an out of body experience and I guess it was; I wasn’t in my own body.
We spent an hour changing our bodies to satisfy Margarite. It started out as simple Hollywood couples and then progressed to characters from history. That escalated to odd couplings; I became Donald Trump, topless wearing a skirt while Cynthia became Hillary Clinton wearing nothing but a Metallica T-shirt. Rita cackled as we kissed in those uncomfortable forms. “God, those debates could have been more entertaining.”
We became other famous people that didn’t belong together; any person that Rita searched on the internet was someone either Cynthia or I transformed into. Rita was laughing hysterically, rubbing her eyes with my discarded blouse. Finally, after far too long, Rita tired of that game. She had Cynthia turn back into herself, including her new larger boobs, and had me do the same.
“Take off your skirt, Adam,” she commanded.
She was looking at me but it still took a moment to understand that she was talking to me. My name was Amy. I stripped to my panties.
“Those, too.” I looked at Cynthia causing Rita to snap. “I warned you. You listen to me, not her.” She grabbed Cynthia’s phone and thrust it to Cynthia. “Send Derek another picture. That one showing all of you. He’ll love it and that should answer his question, don’t you think.”
“Please,” Cynthia begged. “Don’t.”
Rita glared at Cynthia and then snapped at me, “next time you look to her instead of doing what I tell you to do, that picture goes out. Do you understand me?”
I nodded furiously.
“Good, now strip off those silly panties.”
I stripped, standing in front of Cynthia and Rita sporting my large breasts and average cock. My hands went to cover my crotch but a look from Rita stayed my arms. Cynthia was looking at her feet, I was looking at Cynthia, and Rita was looking at me. “That will never do.” I knew what she was going to say next. “Take that away, give yourself a pussy. You wanted to be a girl, well, let’s make sure you are.”
I hadn’t wanted to be a girl. I had only played that way because the stone made it easy and the feelings had been intense, and, well, Cynthia wanted me the way I was. It wasn’t something I’d ever wanted. Before the stone the idea had never even entered my mind. Still, without looking at Cynthia, to save her more than anything else, I gripped the cool rock in my hand and gave myself a pussy. It matched Cynthia’s almost perfectly; my memory filling in the details. The differences were enough that I hoped Rita wouldn’t suspect that I’d done it before.
“That’s better. Give Cynthia the stone.”
I obeyed.
“Can’t let you touch the, what did you call it, the Wererock, and take that away.” She looked at Cynthia. “Make your boobs a little bigger. Let’s see if we can make those things stand out.”
Cynthia clutched the stone and obeyed. Her chest was now almost as big as mine.
Rita took the rock from Cynthia. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.” She looked at me, “Are you a showoff like she is?”
I shook my head.
“Too bad. Still, you’re not a girl, right. You don’t think like a girl?” I didn’t like where that was going and when I shook my head Rita smiled, “Oh, this is going to be so much fun,” she repeated herself. “Tell me more about these triggers?”
I explained them again, answering every question Rita asked. I knew I was giving her more and more control over Cynthia and I but I couldn’t let those pictures go to Derek or Cynthia’s family. I had to protect her as best I could even if that made it worse for me. I love her and I don’t want her to get hurt. Sending that photo would hurt her. Wouldn’t it? It would be humiliating and wasn’t she into that? I thought about it and decided I would try to keep that picture from going out, no matter the cost. When we got the stone back we could just erase the memories of whatever we had to do. That thought brought a modicum of comfort.
“Cynthia, my dear, what’s your first rule?”
“Panties are forbidden.”
Rita grinned, “here,” she held out the rock. “Give yourself an allergy to panties. Make it so you itch terribly if you’re wearing one. Oh, and bras too.” She used the game I had set up against us. I did it in fun; Rita out of some misguided malice.
Cynthia was trembling but from excitement or fear I didn’t know. She took the rock and made the change, handing the stone back to Rita.
“Put these on,” she said, handing Cynthia my white panties with the little delicate flower in the front.
Cynthia put them on. A moment later her hips started to flex. Her legs shifted, twitched, moved together, fell apart again. Her hand dripped to her ass; she scratched it, oblivious the stares she was receiving from Rita and me. She scratched her hip, her crotch, her ass, and finally, after barely thirty seconds she pulled the panties off. Her skin was slightly red, looking irritated.
“That was fun,” Rita said. “Try your bra next.”
She donned my bra and as before, just a few moments later, she was pawing and scratching her breasts, rushing to remove my bra. Her tits wore an angry, red hue that faded after a few minutes of Cynthia rubbing her tits, trying to soothe the irritated flesh.
“Well,” Rita clapped her hands, “I guess you won’t be wearing bras and panties for a while. How’s that for enforcing rule number one.”
“What about work?” I asked.
That led to the discussing of our duties. Rita laughed at me, “So you’re now the full-time secretary at the office you started? Oh, that’s just delicious. You really are a girl. Maybe I should make you my maid. Would you like that? Or,” she was laughing even harder, “Maybe you should get a weekend job as a Hooter’s waitress. Oh, god, a stripper,” she glanced at Cynthia, “you like to show off, maybe you should both be strippers.” She looked at me, “How’d you like to be pawed at by men?” The look on my face answered her question.
None of it sounded good. I explained that we had to be back to work Monday morning and tried to emphasize that it was a place of business and a certain degree of professionalism had to be maintained. Rita silenced me with a brush of her hand, “I won’t interfere with your jobs.” She sounded annoyed and a bit miffed. “But you’ll both have a dress code.” She grinned and I didn’t like it, either.
Cynthia remained quiet. She finally stopped scratching and her skin looked normal. We were both standing naked in the family room, waiting for whatever Rita had planned. It wasn’t going to be good, that much was certain. Still, we had our jobs, so if Rita was to be trusted, we’d be free to go to work on Monday. That left a lot of time to be tormented over the weekend. I thought of what Cynthia had said. She had kept some of our secrets. Rita didn’t know that silver blocked the stone and she didn’t know that one person could make changes to another if they were both touching the Wererock. Was that intentional or had it just been an oversite based on Rita’s jubilant reaction over learning about the stone? Either way, we had some power that Rita didn’t know. I took solace in that. Still, Rita was Cynthia’s best friend, surely she wouldn’t hurt us? I was at a disadvantage; I didn’t know the full extent of Rita and Cynthia’s relationship. And I didn’t know, none of us did, that Rita was obeying the stone every bit as readily as Cynthia and I were obeying Rita.
“Get dressed,” she said to me. She turned to Cynthia, “pants. Make yourself allergic to pants, too. You’re a skirt and dress girl.” She looked at me, “You too. I want you allergic to pants.” A minute later both Cynthia and I had a terrible allergy to pants. I guess Cynthia would need to do some shopping. I put on my panties and bra, my camisole, jean skirt and blouse. My hair, thanks to the rock, still looked perfect and my tits effortlessly filled the cups of my bra. The makeup on my face still looked good. The panties fit a little different, now that I was sporting a pussy instead of my cock and balls; they felt better.
Rita led Cynthia to the master bedroom and about ten minutes later she came out wearing a short blue skirt that barely covered her ass in the back and a thin blue camisole. Her face was made up heavily, with thick, dark colors. When she’d given me my lessons, she told me how makeup was used depending on what you were doing. She looked like she was made up to go work the streets; heavy eye makeup, dark red lips, and bright, golden glitter on her face and chest. She was wearing tall, black heels with three separate straps encircling her ankle. She was carrying a pair of my own four-inch heels. I put them on as Rita demanded. “You look pretty,” she said to me. To Cynthia she said, “you look like a slut.”
Cynthia and I both blushed; I was a man looking like a woman. Or was I a woman now with my manly brain? Cynthia did look exactly as Rita had described.
“Let’s go. We’ll take my car.” Cynthia and I watched as Rita dropped the Wererock into her purse.
Walking out to the car was easy for me; nobody could tell I wasn’t what I was made up to be. I pretty girl. Cynthia had a tougher time. She looked like a hooker. Her skirt was short and we all knew she was naked underneath it. Her breasts bounced as she walked, jiggling enticingly with each step. Whatever Rita was planning was going to be embarrassing, I just didn’t know how bad.
Rita drove with Cynthia and I riding in the back seat.  “Play with yourself, slut,” she commanded. Cynthia obeyed, slipping her hand under her skirt to toy with her pussy. Sitting next to her I could hear the moans that escaped her lips; I could smell her arousal. “Keep going. Keep going until you come.”
“She can’t.” I knew I goofed as soon as I said it.

1 comment:

sarah penguin said...

Thanks for the update!