Taylor Galen Kadee

Mother's Son 8

(For story with images see PDF below)

Collins

Collins plucked at the hem of his romper and stuck one leg out to the side, the same as he’d seen women do countless times and wondered– why do they do that? Now that he was the  woman, he still didn’t know, but it just felt right. He’d been through what was now his everyday routine: He’d shaved his legs, done his makeup, fussed with his hair. It was his everyday routine, but this was a special day.

Breen came out of the shower, the room filling with the woodsy smell of her bodywash.

“Guess what today is?” Collins had said.

Breen, toweling off, shook her head. “Our first shore leave together?”

“That,” Collins said, “and also one month since the whole guy-girl thing happened.”

Breen smirked, came over and gave Collins a kiss on the side of the cheek so she wouldn’t mess up his makeup. “You really are thinking like a woman,” she said. “You’re not going to get mad at me now if I forget every one of the little relationship milestones you’ve got stored in that pretty little head of yours, are you?”

“Of course I am,” Collins said, giggling. “And I’ll freak if you miss all the hints I’m going to drop about what I want for my birthday.”

“Oh, boy.” They both grinned. They were young, in love, and enjoying the whole role-reversal they’d been going through together. Yet, for Breen there was one little issue she felt she needed to keep making clear. “You know we’re not exclusive, though.”

“I know,” Collins said, turning away to hide the sting of pain he felt each time she felt the need to remind him she reserved the right to sleep with other women. She was new to being a man, and she wanted to experience that to the fullest. He understood, though as for himself he’d been surprised to learn he was a one-man woman. He wanted Breen and only Breen, and he was sure in time she would want to settle down with him as her one and only. Looking in the mirror, he noted how pretty he was and nodded. Yes. The day would come when she realized she didn’t need anybody else.

Breen threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. “Let’s go,” she said. Collins gave her his arm, feeling just a little jealous of how easy it was for guys to get ready. When they got to the transporter room, Mr. Scott did a double-take. “Collins,” he said. “You do clean up nicely. And yer bein’ escorted by a giant these days.”

Collins laughed. “Laura Breen,” he said, holding his hand up to emphasize how much taller she was than him. Breen nodded.

“Have fun down there, kids,” Scotty said as he activated the transporter.  “But not too much.”

Starbase 11 consisted of an orbital array to service starships and a planet side base on M-11 that served, among other things, as a resort style haven for crew on shore leave. Collins and Breen spent the morning seeing the sights such as the famous Fungi Gardens, as well as the tribbles zoo. They posed for pictures, laughing and smiling. They visited Futurism Gallery, with weird objects d’art they both found ridiculous and made fun of. The busy morning melted into a lunch on the patio outside bistro on the famous “Blue River.” They ate, drank, chatted about their morning. Then Collins, having recovered his strength, asked, “what’s next?”

“Tonight, I am taking you out for dinner and dancing at the most exclusive restaurant on M-11,” Breen said.

“Exclusive?” Collins crinkled his nose, a cute little feminine habit he’d evolved to show worry. “I don’t have the outfit for that.”

Breen loved that her little man was already so conscious of fashion and how he looked. She took his hand and caressed it. “That’s why you are about to experience the ultimate female pampering experience,” she said. “And that will include a dress that will make you the talk of Starbase-11. You, my dear, are about to get glamorous.”

Collins blushed. His heart raced. It was something he’d never thought of before, but now that Breen suggested it, he felt like a secret dream had been revealed to him. “Wow,” was all he could manage.

Breen kissed his hand. “Are you ready?”

“Lead the way.”

Breen took Collins’ hand and led him to the entrance of the Nova Spa. Pink marble with an ivy trellis, the name spelled out in script that looked like it was made of ice. Perfumed air flowed from between the drawn curtains. A young woman emerged holding a glass of cucumber water, which she handed to Collins. “Your girlfriend is in good hands,” she said to Breen. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“I know you will,” Breen said, and Collins warmed as he noted she hadn’t corrected the girl when she’d referred to him as Breen’s “girlfriend.” Breen kissed Collins on the head. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” she said. “After you’ve been transformed.”

“Um, what are you going to do?” Collins asked. His voice was sweet and full of feminine concern. They both knew he was worried Breen was going to go off and have a fling.

Breen decided to calm her little boyfriend’s worry. “Me and a bunch of the guys are going to play 18 rounds of golf,” she said. “I’m going to win all their money.”

“Okay. Oh! Good luck.” Guys. Cigars. Bets. Good, he thought. Good. Just no girls.

Breen left. As Asha, the beauty tech, led Collins into the spa, she said, “Your boyfriend is a hunk.”

“Isn’t he?” Collins said as he looked at the pastels, the flowers and plants, the all-together super feminine energy of the spa. Breen belonged on the golf course with the guys. This was his place now; he belonged  in the world of women.

Collins’ spa day started with a Trellain mud bath. As he relaxed into the mud with a glass of champagne, he sighed, thinking about his life. One month ago, he’d known exactly who he was and what he planned for his life: 20 years in Starfleet, then a second career as a cop back on Old Earth. Husband. Father. Grandfather.

His own father had always told him, “Plan for your future but be ready when life throws you a few curves.”

He chuckled, looking down at his mud-covered breasts. ‘I don’t think these are the curves he had in mind,” Collins whispered. He took a sip of champagne. I should probably be more worried, more freaked out about all this, he thought. There were plenty of changed men who were unmoored now, with no sense of who they were or what they could do with their lives. He was lucky, though. He had Breen, and she had told him who he was now, and she was leading him to become the woman she wanted him to be. There was comfort in that, even as that future began to become more clear.

They’d been just lounging together in Breen’s room, each on their own smart pads. Breen had suddenly said, “Oh, yes. I like that.” She’d shown him a deep fake that had been going around: Captain Kirk dressed up like a traditional wife, holding a homemade pie, smiling. “You’d make a great little wife,” she’d said to Collins.

The comment had warmed Collins, and his reaction had surprised him. Where else was this thing going to go but wifey? He realized. He began to entertain the idea of becoming Breen’s wife someday, and he didn’t even want to fight it. She made him feel safe.

Mudbaths, facials… a device that caused his hair to grow, cascading down over his shoulders. Asha put it up in what she called a “halo braid” and then she did his makeup in all glamorous, night shades meant for a high-class evening on the town.

Asha tied him into a black corset dress that left his shoulder bare. It had a series of diaphanous skirts that fluttered around his legs, and she perched him on stiletto heels with little delicate chains that jingled with each little step he took. She lay more chains over his shoulders, bound them to his wrist, affixed dangling rose earrings from his ears. She handed him a clutch purse and then trotted him over to the mirror.

Collins gasped. ‘I’m gorgeous,” as he looked at the super model movie star in the mirror with all her jewelry and radiant skin. He’d never seen himself all dolled up like this before, and the sight of how beautiful a woman he was dressed to the nines shook him right down to his stilettos.

“Yes, you are,” Breen said, her deep voice guttural as she stepped into the room, took a position behind Breen and put her hands on his hips. “The most beautiful woman in all the systems.” She shifted so the two were standing side by side. “I can’t wait to show you off.”

Collins’ felt so turned on. Breen now wore a dark suit, and she had never looked more handsome. I love a man in a suit, he thought to himself. He’d heard women say it but had never understood. When he’d been a man, a suit was just a suit, but now seeing Breen all dressed up in formal clothes for the first time? Oh, my God, he thought. “You’re so handsome,” he whispered. “This must have cost a fortune?”

“I come from old money,” Breen said. “The oldest on Parthenon. Money is not a concern.”

Collins mouth dropped open. Looks and money? He turned his gaze back to the two of them there in the mirror. They looked good together. Scratch that. They looked great together. It was important. They were not just two gorgeous people; they were a gorgeous couple. I’m the luckiest girl in the galaxy,” Collins thought, overwhelmed with joy.

Dex

“I hate you so much,” Dex said, his voice dripping acid, but his eyes were hungry. “I wish I could kill you.” He’d lost a bet and wore a bikini, had gotten his hair lengthened.

“You know the French call an orgasm “la petite mort” or “the little death” Barkley said. He had one arm wrapped around Dex’s upper chest, and his other hand was on Dex’s belly, sliding down over the soft, smooth flesh toward his bikini bottoms.

“God,” Dex said. “That’s the kind of thing you would say. You’re so pretentious, you make me sick.” He dug his nails into Barkley’s arm, thrilled to be inflicting pain even as he knew his partner loved it.

“Pretentious also comes from a French word,” Barkley teased. He loved driving Dex crazy. Their whole relationship was built on their hate-passion for each other.

“Does it mean dumb ass?” Dex said, struggling as Barkley’s hand slipped under his bottoms and found his new mound. “Don’t you dare, you– unh!”

Fracker squeezed Dex’s breast as his hand explored the other man’s sex. “I thought that might shut you up.”

Dex had felt like he was living some kind of surreal dream or nightmare since becoming a woman. He’d just gone along with it all, disassociated from his body, his new life, watching the Girl-Dex live her life. He wasn’t sure if it was good to so detached, but as Barkley pushed him onto his back and straddled him, he was sure he didn’t care. Barkley let his guard down, and Dex slapped him in the face, leaving a red welt on his cheek. Barkley laughed and grabbed Dex’s wrists, pinning his slender little arms to his chest. “You’ve been a bad girl,” Barkley said, giving Dex chills.

Dex widened his smoldering eyes. “Punish me.”

A warm salty breeze washed over the couple as the sound of the crashing waves drowned out their soft moans and gentle sighs.

Captain’s Log

I practiced sitting in my new uniform before the hearing. McCoy had insisted that if I didn’t do it right and flashed all the old men a look at my “who-hah” it was over. So, I walked into the room in my little dress, acknowledged the tribunal with small nods, then, knees together, reaching back to smooth my skirt, I knelt into my seat, keeping my chin up. The chair was a little too tall for me. My feet didn’t reach the floor. I saw Admiral Plank smirk, but I kept my face blank. They kept the rooms cold at these things. I thanked the stars I’d decided to wear a bra.

There was no manly way to sit in a short dress. I’d opted for knees together rather than crossing my legs. It seemed the less awful option. Spock had offered- almost insisted– to come with me and speak on my behalf, but it stank too much of a little girl needing to be protected by a man. I’d decided to go in alone. To show them I was still James Kirk.

The tribunal consisted of three old men. The decor was military bland, dull and functional. “The purpose of this meeting today…” Admiral Komack began, going through the required legalese. I tuned him out, running through the series of arguments I’d prepared, setting my intentions. I would walk out of there a captain, I insisted to myself. Failure was not an option.

When Komack finished reciting the necessary preamble, he forced a smile to his narrow lips. “We have decided to offer you a historic opportunity, James,” Komack said. “We intend to make you the first woman to ever receive command of a Star Fleet vessel.”

My spirits rose. I felt triumphant, though I kept my face blank. They knew I was still me. Still Kirk. Just because I had ovaries it didn’t mean—then I caught the look in Komack’s eyes. I waited for the hammer to fall.

“Your command will be The USS Artemesia,” Komack said. “She’s a newly commissioned, state of the art freighter. Not only will you be the captain, but we are moving Checkov and Sulu along with you, so you will have the distinction of leading the first all-female bridge crew in history. Congratulations.”

A freighter. The Artemesia. History. The first woman ever to be assigned to a low-level job a man wouldn’t want. Hooray. “Permission to speak freely,” I said, still believing I could turn this around, that I could win.

“Jim,” Komack said, and the tone of his voice made it clear the decision had been made. “We’ve been friends a long time. Take the win. You’ll still be a captain. You’ll still have command of your own vessel. This is the best deal you’re going to get in your current– condition. ”

Admiral Plank then decided he needed to chime in. ‘If you don’t want that deal,” he said, ‘I could use a secretary with a great pair of legs.” He chuckled that insufferable male chuckle men loved to use when they were demeaning women. The others, to their credit, did not respond. I didn’t respond, either. If I’d had a phaser, though, I might have stunned the hell out of him.

And that was it. Dismissed. In the hall, I fought back the tears– weepiness was a part of my new biology, I’d learned, but I didn’t have to give in to them. In a daze I walked around Starbase 11, eventually wandering into a bar on the outskirts of the base.

I’m a woman, I admitted. It’s time I really explored exactly what that life is going to be like. I had a clear simple plan; get a little drunk, pick up some guy. Lose my virginity.

It was mid-day and the place was mostly empty, but the eyes that were there all turned to me, took me in, assessed and appreciated my body. They starred; I could sense them mentally undressing me. I’m just going to have to get used to this, I realized. This was my life now.

I’d just sat and not even ordered a drink when a portly, half bald older man who looked like Harry Mudd’s ugly brother, approached. “Would you allow me to join you?” He asked. “It pains me to see such a lovely woman drinking alone.”

Are you kidding me? I thought, half amused at my own thoughts. Can’t he see I’m out of his league? I’d come in to explore life as a member of the fairer sex, but with this guy? Not even for practice. “I’m waiting for a friend,” I said, slightly thrown off by the surreal inversion of my life experience, finding myself the one with the soft voice, gently turning down the advances of a man. I’d been flirting with girls since I was 12. Now, I was the one in the skirt.

“Perhaps while you wait. I’m Ambassador Tregarth”.

Oh, no. He was going to be persistent. I couldn’t blame him. I would have done the same to pursue a girl as hot as me. The Ambassador was about to sit with me despite the fact I’d declined his lame advance, and I tensed up as I thought about how to get rid of him, when--

“Good evening, darling” Kang said, stepping from the shadows.  “I didn’t see you come in.”

“I presume your wait is over?” Tregarth said. It was a gallant offer of protection in case the hulking Klingon was the one who presumed. I wanted to vomit with these men all playing my knight in shining armor. My gut said choose Kang, but was Kang really a safer choice? I remembered Kang’s unzipping my top, pawing at my breasts, climbing on top of me. He’d so much as threatened to take me against my will. Yet--

I made a decision. “Thank you,” I said to Tregarth. “Thank you for your offer, but this is the friend I was waiting for.”

Tregarth withdrew. Kang bowed. It was an exaggerated, courtly bow. “Miss Kirk,” he said. “You look lovely.”

The memory of his unwelcome hands on my breasts brought back white-hot rage. I’d imagined seeing Kang and telling him off. Now, with all that had happened-- losing my ship, the unfairness of my whole woman’s life, I slit my eyes and barred my teeth. I would dump all my rage into his stupid face. “You have a lot of damn nerve after what you did to me.”

Much to my surprise, Kang responded with sheepish, apologetic look. “One of the reasons I came over was to apologize for my vulgar behavior,” he said. “I had not yet become accustomed to the double Y effect your doctor identified, and when I saw you again, how beautiful you looked? My passions overcame me. It is no excuse. I was wrong. Can you forgive me?”

Kang’s voice trembled with shame and remorse. I didn’t know Klingons could even feel such emotions let alone express them. His raw emotion, the unexpected vulnerability, shook me.  “Forgive…” my own voice was hoarse and as uncertain as my mind. “I don’t know if I can forgive you…” My voice trailed off. It left Kang an opening.

Kang punched the order pad. “Let us have a drink together.”

I stayed for the drink. I don’t know why.

The drinks came. We talked. Kang waxed poetic. “The two of us could run off together and explore the galaxy. There are a thousand thousand planets… a thousand thousand worlds… where a pair of misfits could find glory and adventure. I cannot return to The First City, and there is no place in the Federation for a woman with your spirit, your courage…”

Truer words, I thought. Kang didn’t even know I’d lost The Enterprise, been consigned to a low-level job commanding a freighter. Yet Kang knew. He understood what it would be like for a woman with my spirit trapped in a dress. What if we did run away together?  It would be like a movie, and my life could still be a great adventure. I could make history for my deeds and not my gender.

The conversation drifted back to our  encounter on the planet.

“You know how it is for a man when you see a woman who is so stunning,” Kang said, his speech now slightly slurred. “The sight of you drove me mad with desire.” He pounded the table. “There was something in your eyes, Kirk. I swear you wanted it.” Kang’s face hardened. “The man you’d once been couldn’t surrender to the life of the angel, but the woman? She longed for a man’s embrace.” He took a drink. “Am I right? Did you want it, Kirk?”

I thought about all the times I’d relived the experience. It had become, to my shame and confusion, a fantasy. I’d dreamt of it, and in my dreams I whispered “take me.” I even used it to help me “release the tension” as McCoy liked to say. Now, sitting across from him, I remembered Kang cupping my chin, tilting my head back… the feeling of Kang’s body on mine, him squeezing my soft breast, curling my toes… Had some part of me wanted it? Why else had I been so turned on by the memory?

I found myself staring into Kang’s eyes. There was a challenge there, and I answered. I would not be the first to look away. We stared, each one resolved not to blink.

“Did you want it?” Kang repeated. “Tell me. I must know. I can’t live myself otherwise.”

I put a hand to my smooth, soft cheek. I made a decision. “I don’t know what I wanted then,” I whispered, “but I want it now.”

Kang stood and held out a hand. “Come. I will show you such wonders.”

I took Kang’s hand. To boldly go where no man has gone before, I thought, feeling my skin tingle, my heart race, the excitement and the thrill I always felt when about to explore a new world.

We headed to the door, and I walked slightly to the side and behind Kang.

The bar door opened. Spock walked in and gave me an angry look, like a disappointed parent. Kang and Spock stood chest to chest. I plucked at the hem of my dress as the men faced off. “She wants to come with me,” Kang said.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Spock said.

“Perhaps we should take this outside,” Kang offered.

My head swam with strange new emotions. My heart pounded in my chest. The men were fighting over me and– God help me, I liked it. Yet, some part of me settled back to reality. I felt my boots on the ground. All the soft focus romantic fantasies of running away with Kang faded.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Spock,” I said, my voice so small compared to the men’s. “Perhaps another time,” I offered, touching Kang’s arm.

Spock took position on my right and guided me toward the door. “You should not be in such a rush to experience certain things and never with certain-- people,” he said. ‘Your emotions are over-ruling your reason.”

“Women are known for that,” I said. The three of us walked along now. I felt so small between the two men.

“Humans are known for that,” Spock said. “You must consider your future.”

“Future?” I snorted. “What future? I’m stuck as a woman. You said so yourself. The process is a one-way street it– wait. What did I just say?”

“Verbatim?”

“Spock, I’m not stuck like this. None of us are. We go back to the planet. It plucks us off the ship and swaps us back.”

“It doesn’t swap the same people twice,” Kang said. “You know that.”

“It will if it thinks they are new people from a different ship,” Kirk said. “Bones has said it. We are all normal men and women in terms of our genetics. The planet won’t know we’ve already been through the wringer.” I clasped my hands to my chest. “I can be a man again. I don’t have to be Miss Kirk.”

There were some teenagers taking pictures. “I told you that was Miss Kirk,” one of them said as they all got excited at the prospect of getting pics of a celebrity.

“Not for long girls,” I said to them. “Not for long.”

(To be continued) 

Training Day (NSFW)

When Doctor McCoy practices delivering her new "Relieving the Tension" seminar on Kirk and Collins, the two have very different reactions!

(Not sure if this scene will make it into the story or not, but thought some of my good patrons might enjoy)

Everlass 23 (7 and 9 initial release)

Like! Comment! Thanks for your support!!!!

Slave Girl Part 1 (Previously on Amazon)

(For story with images see PDF Below)

Chapter 1

As a child, Carter Blue watched in horror as his mother and sister were murdered. From that night of horror, a HERO was BORN. Carter grew up to invent the cybernetic combat chassis and became the hero known as C3--hunting down those who do violence against women and bringing them to JUSTICE.

Now, after an epic battle with the super-powered villains Whips and Chains, he has finally located the headquarters of Slave Lord, the world's most notorious human trafficker. Yes, faithful readers, that selfsame Slave Lord who kidnapped Maxine Manning, the woman C3 LOVES. (See last ish, natch.)

The epic adventure starts now.

"Quite a welcome committee at the front door," C3 thought to himself, looking over the gang of heavily armed thugs gathered outside the warehouse. "Looks like I may want to use the servant's entrance."

With that he activated the super silent jet-propulsion system in his armor and launched himself into the air, gliding over the guards and landing silently on the roof. Carefully scanning the rooftop for any trips wires, sensors, traps-- or security systems of any kind, he paused. Nothing. He scanned it again. Nothing.

Impossible, he thought. This could only mean that Slave Lord wanted someone to enter through the roof. In other words, a trap.

Creeping to the back of the building, he saw three thugs standing in a circle, their faces intermittently lit by the red flares of their cigarettes and scanning further he spotted a stasis generator--which had he stumbled into it would have rendered him powerless.

Three stun darts launched from his wrist, and the thugs fell to the ground. At the same time, he launched a rocket that took out both the stasis generator and then dropped a concussion grenade that blew the back door to splinters.

Not even waiting to see the minions of the slave lord take the bait, he activated his jets as well as his force field and rising into the air about 500 feet, turned and launched himself down, down down to smash through the skylight in a shower of flashing splinters.

The men who'd rushed to the door collapsed in a cloud of knock out gas. An alarm sounded and a bank of elevator doors running along the side wall opened with a whoosh. A bolt of hot, blue lighting fired from each bank and crashed into C3 sending him hurling backwards and slamming him into the opposite wall. He found himself paralyzed as his systems strained to counter-act the massive power surge "Adjust shields to maximum efficacy against the threat," he said calmly, and as his systems adjusted to fully counter the electrically charged attack, he saw dozens of armored shock troops charging across the room. "Clever," he thought. The moment my shields maximize to counter the electricity, they launch a bunch of good old-fashioned projectiles at me--and I die." Death. He felt a jolt of adrenalin and smiled. He preferred an enemy that didn't fuck around, and the Slave Lord was earning more and more the brutal beating he had coming.

"Disperse. Disperse. Disperse." At that command, his defensive system shifted their polarity and instead of merely deflecting the lighting attacks now turned them around and sent them knifing back into the room in a ferocious storm jagged death. Screams and howls or agony filled the room, and then suddenly stopped as the men collapsed into piles of trembling, smoking flesh.

"Filter," C3 said, crinkling his nose against the smell of burning hair and flesh.

"Well done, C3," a mechanical voice called out over the building's intercom system. "I did not know about the reflective capabilities of your magnificent apparatus." The voice paused as if waiting for a response, but C3 ignored him. He'd learned early on he had no interest in bantering with the sub-human scum he hunted. Meanwhile, his suit was restoring, recalibrating and most importantly using its sensors and probing apparatus to generate maps of the facility.

"Silent, eh? Not a surprise. I have studied you, and my profiles predicted you would not respond to me," Slave Lord said smugly. "Let's see how accurate the rest of information is?"

A section of the floor slid open, and a glittering metallic platform rose. "Join me?"

C3 paused. The facility far exceeded anything he'd seen in the world of human slaving. Slave Lord was the biggest player, but what he was seeing here was a billion-dollar criminal empire. He'd obviously been lured here, but by who? Why? The whole thing was a trap, but one he had to walk into whether he wanted to or not.

Crossing the room, he grabbed the platform and ripped it from the base, tossing it across the room and dropping into the elevator shaft under his own power. "Exactly what my profile said you would do," Slave Lord chuckled. "Like most men, C3, you are laughably predictable."

C3 dropped to the floor. He found himself in a large room, opulent, like a movie sheik's harem, and all around the room women in thin, colorful silks lounged on pillows, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes. He saw they all wore chains, pretty, delicate chains that flashed at their wrists and ankles. Slave Lord stood boldly at one end of the room--he was tall, 6' 3", slender and wore a black silk suit. His face was hidden behind a wolf mask, and in one hand he held an old Lugar. The other arm was around the waist of a terrified Maxine Manning. "Help." She screamed. "Don't let him hurt me."

"Silence," Slave Lord yelled, pressing the gun against her temple.

"Let her go," C3 said, watching Slave Lord, gauging the man's calm, his steel. One nervous twitch of the finger and Maxine Manning would die. "Let her go, unharmed, and I won't kill you."

"Power down your suit or the bitch dies," Slave Lord said.

C3 felt his temper rise at the use of the word bitch. His systems had targeted Slave Lord at five different points, but he was picking up some sort of force shield, and his system couldn't get a fix on it, couldn't find a sure-fire way to penetrate the shield. He needed time. " Surrender, Slave Lord."

"On the count of three."

"I could kill you where you stand with just a thought."

"If you could, you would."

"No. Unlike you, I don't kill for..."

"Three."

"... no reason, I..."

"Two. And just for your stubbornness, I will now kill all of these girls while you watch in addition to Miss Bitch here."

"This is your last chance."

All the women around the room began to move, some screamed, several crawled toward C3. "Don't let him hurt us." One of the girls said, wrapping her arms around his leg.

"Watch, fool, as the woman you love..."

"Don't do it."

And then, suddenly, C3 found himself wrapped in chains as the girls sprung into action, wrapping the chains around his arms and legs, one throwing a chain over his head and wrapping it around his neck, yanking him backward off his feet even as the chains activated and sent a surge of energy through his suit, frying his power systems and filling his body with agonizing pain. "No."

He struggled, but the now giggling girls pinned his arms and legs and quickly stripped off his helmet. He was powerless. Defeated. Slave Lord stepped forward, put a foot on his chest and looked down at him. "Good work, girls."

They squealed.

Slave Lord still had Maxine with him, and he slapped her across the face-- once, twice, three times. She screamed and struggled to get away, but he slapped her again, then tossed her aside, out of C3's sight.

C3 strained helplessly, his face twisted in a mask of hate and rage. "I'll kill you."

"You are cute," Slave Lord said sadly. "It's a shame."

C3 just stared at his enemy, enraged, but trying to calm himself. To focus. "Maxine?" He managed to rasp.

"She's fine. You really are such a predictable little boy, C3. It was so easy to trap you. So easy to see that your whole act was a mask for the fact that you are really nothing but an old-fashioned sexist pig."

"Bullshit," C3 said, getting annoyed in spite of himself.

"Oh?" Slave Lord squatted down and fished something out of his pocket. "My data showed you would not see a female as a potential threat. That's why you were such an easy target for my girls."

"So?"

"So, you're a sexist. You don't respect women. You certainly never thought you'd be beaten by one."

"They're just following your orders, Slave Lord."

Slave Lord chuckled. "Oh? And so, you will probably be surprised to know one little thing about me." And with that, Slave Lord reached up and pulled off the wolf mask, her raven black hair tumbling down around her beautiful face, heart-shaped face.

"No..." C3 said. "No..."

"Oh sweetie," Slave Lord said, chuckling prettily. "We don't need you to save us. To protect us. That's what you don't understand." She opened the compact in her hand and began to rub pink blush onto C3's cheeks.

"What the hell?" He twisted his head, trying to stop her, but soon he had pretty, flush cheeks.

"There," Slave Lord said smiling. "Now you look pretty."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I am getting paid very well to break you."

Next, he found himself fighting as she tried to paint his lips with a tube of glossy pink lipstick. "Candy?"

"Yes, boss." He felt them jam a needle into his neck, and all his muscles turned to wet noodles. He lay, paralyzed, and unable to speak as Slave Lord painted his face.

"I know you are feeling humiliated right now," Slave Lord said as she worked. "Emasculated. I am doing you up just like a sexy girl--smoky eye shadow, thick lashes, big, wet lips..."

"He looks soooooooooo pretty." One of the girls said, and they all giggled.

"You're just a doll."

"Pictures," Slave Lord said, standing, and two girls came into his vision, snapping pictures.

C3 felt himself dying with shame, thinking about the pictures going public, about the shame, about the laughter. He was powerless. Defeated. Humiliated. Just kill me, he thought. Kill me.

"You're probably wishing I would just kill you, but I have much bigger plans for you. I am going to turn you, my pretty little thing, into a girl. It will be slow, and painful, and humiliating, but you will become a female."

No. No. No. He thought, looking up at Slave Lord and the two girls with their cameras, all three leering down at him now.

"You're going to have bigger tits than Brandy," Slave Lord said nodding toward the buxom blonde, "and wider hips than Jasmine," with a nod to the other, curvy girl. "You are going to be a hot little bitch, and a slave girl. There's nothing you can do to stop it."

And with that the room filled with the sound of female's laughing and giggling and snickering and they all started to crowd together, his eyes filling with all the mocking female faces as they laughed down at him, and laughed and laughed, and laughed.

"No," he struggled to whisper. "Don't... do... this..."

But they couldn't hear him over their own laughter. "A helpless little woman, C3. Helpless and pretty and weak."

"Please," he managed. And then, he fainted.

Carter fell into a deep, empty sleep, a sleep like death. If he dreamt, he didn't remember the dreams. If he felt, he didn't remember the feelings. But then, gradually, floating in that formless world of non-being, he began to sense a feeling, a need--thirst.

He moved toward that feeling, gradually becoming aware of his body, the feeling of soft sheets against his back, then a tightness around his chest and hips, and he opened his eyes and looked up at a pink canopy. Confused, he found he couldn't move. He tried to lift an arm, but nothing happened. He could feel his arms and legs, his toes against the sheet, but he couldn't move.

Then, the memories flooded back to him. Slave Lord. The ambush. The paralysis.

Am I a woman? He wondered. He tried to look, but he couldn't move his head. He couldn't tell if he still had his manhood or not, couldn't tell if his chest was flat or hard or if he had, as Slave Lord had promised, huge breasts. What would it feel like to have breasts? He had wondered, in an off-hand way. But if he had them now, they felt the same as his old chest. Which didn't seem possible. Yet, the feeling across his chest and back--that felt the way he imagined a bra would feel. Straps on his shoulders? Yes. He could feel them.

Voices. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but he could hear them. Whispers at first, and then gradually they grew louder and more urgent, and he started to make out a word here and there... "weird"... "sick"... "unfortunate"... he could feel heat... intense heat on his face and body, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

"Ummmmm I guess....”

“Sir? Sir? What's your name?"

Carter opened his eyes. He saw a man looking down at him, a man with a blue police officer's hat on his head with a glittering brass badge that read NYPD.

Carter lifted his head and felt the world spin, struggled to speak... "I.... I...."

His voice was hoarse, his mouth dry.

"Okay. Just lay back down and relax. Help is on the way."

Carter glanced down and saw he was wearing a hot pink bikini top, but it was stretched across a flat, hairless chest, though the cups were slightly padded, giving his chest a rounded shape as if he had budding breasts . He saw he’d been given a tattoo—it read SLUT in pink letters. He wanted to take off the top, to get up, to run, but he was so weak, so dizzy, and he needed to say... something. So badly. There were words he needed to say, had to say... he struggled to push himself up onto his elbows, to get to his feet, a terrible sense of panic coming over him as he thought about Maxine and the Slave Lord, about his defeat, about being outside, wearing a bikini, and he saw that he had long, frosted pink fingernails, and the cop was pushing him back down saying, "just calm down. Relax."

"No. NO." Carter said, helpless and desperate. "I .... I... need..."

He was aware now of a murmuring crowd gathered around him, watching, talking, and more cops, and he heard someone say, "the ambulance is here."

"We're going to get you some help. Just relax." The cop smiled. "We'll take care of you."

Ambulance? They'd take him to a hospital or to Belleview... he'd be locked up, put under watch, and he had to move, to find Maxine, and he had to say... something... he needed to say it, the words, they were there in his mind, fighting to get out... He grabbed the cop's arm with a pink taloned hand, pulled himself up into a seated position and finally, the words came out as he screamed, "I need DICK."

"What the fuck?" The cop said. The crowd suddenly grew silent.

No. No. No Carter thought, feeling his face flush, no. He shook his head and screamed even louder, "I NEED DICK. And now the words wouldn't stop, he couldn't control himself as he screamed, "I WANT DICK. I NEED DICK. I NEEEEEEED DICK SOOOOOO BAAAADDDD..."

"Christ," the cop said, shaking Carter's hand off and backing away. Carter, terrified at the words coming from his mouth, ashamed and scared, struggled to stand, his legs shaking like a newborn fawn, and he realized he had pink high heels strapped to his feet. His vision blurred even as he faced the huge crowd that was gathering, phones up, snapping pictures, taking video, and he wanted to scream HELP ME, but instead he screamed, "I NEED DICK..." And he stumbled and fell, right into the arms of an EMT, who lifted him and carried him toward the gurney, and helpless in the man's arms, Carter began to cry, whispering, "I just need dick.... I need it so baaaaadddd."

The images flooded the Internet, the Cable News shows, joined by a set of earlier pictures of freelance APP designer Carter Blue, now revealed as the secret identity of the vigilant C3. The earlier pictures had shown him in full make-up and had purportedly been leaked by an employee at a bondage dungeon in the East Village who claimed that he liked to dress as a woman and then get spanked. Now pictures of him in a tiny little pink bikini laying out in Central Park and videos of him screaming about Dick joined those pictures, and the world got their first impressions of Carter Blue.

The EMTs pumped him full of sedatives and strapped him to a gurney, and he finally stopped yelling and murmuring and drifted into a fuzzy haze, staring at the ceiling of the ambulance unable to form any coherent thoughts. Fragments flashed through his mind... memories of his life, past and present... paddling in a boat in Central Park with Maxine... his first kiss, to a freckly-faced Sue Anne Watts, his first stakeout and first collar, a low level street pimp who lost his two front teeth in a fight that took less than 10 seconds... the first news story about the mysterious C3, and how he had sent the criminals of New York running and hiding for cover. It had made him feel good, strong, important. He loved it. Hunting down criminals. Beating them senseless. Breaking apart their little empires, showing the world that for all their tough talk and bravado, all their rap video posing and bullshit, they were all cowards. All of them. And they had learned to fear and respect C3. Word had gotten around in a hurry that he had a special thing about protecting women, and that any criminal who got a rep for using or abusing girls would get taken out.

He was strong. Fearless. Willing to die to protect the girls.

And now the whole world was laughing at him. He could feel the lines of his bikini tight against his body. The bracelet on his wrist. Remember some of the faces in the crowd coming into focus, coming clear, the looks--shock, horror, pity, contempt--as he screamed about dick.

Slave Lord. Somehow, she'd planted it in his mind, and now a new fear began to grow in him. What else had she done to him? What else had she changed?

She'd promised she was going to turn him into a woman, and he'd thought she meant just his body. But could she also turn his mind? He had to find a way to fight it. To fight it all. Whatever she was doing to him, he would find a way to stop it and stop her, to rescue Maxine.

"How are you doing?" The EMT asked, taking Carter's wrist in his hand, placing his fingers across his veins, checking his pulse. "Nice and calm now, right?"

"I'm thirsty," Carter said through parched lips.

"Sucking cock will do that to you," the man said.

"What?"

"Okay, Doll. Looks like you're ready. He took a syringe out of a case and raised it. "Estrogen and testosterone blockers."

"No," Carter said. "Don't."

The man put the syringe in Carter's arm and smiled as he pressed the plunger. "That'll put some boobs on your chest. Am I right?"

"Damnit. Let me go."

Then he raised a second syringe and smiled. "Of course, estrogen is nothing. Child's play. Slave Lord has tech, I mean, you'd be surprised at what she can do to a guy." He stuck the needle into Carter's arm and pressed down, and Carter immediately felt his body growing hot, feverish. "I should say, you will be surprised, because, well, you're about to find out little girl. Yes, you are. And now, for the final injection."

"Please," Carter said. "No. She has my girlfriend. I have to save her."

"Oh, you're not going to be saving anyone, little princess. Not anymore. You're going to be small and weak as a kitten. Just a little thing, really, not good for much other than looking pretty and having sex. A helpless little slave girl."

"Please... no..."

He plunged the needle into Carter's arm and said. "You're already getting so good at begging and pleading. We all can't wait to see how you turn out."

Carter spasmed and arched his back as it felt like every cell in his body caught fire and began to burn, he screamed and the man covered his mouth with an oxygen mask and laughed as Carter's vision blurred and he started to fade out, gratefully running from the pain and the terrible feeling of being so helpless.

"You broke my nose and shattered my jaw two years ago, asshole," the man said. "You're getting what you got coming."

Chapter 2

Darkness again. Blackness. No light. No sound. No feeling. Just a detached awareness of timeless non-being. Then, out of that soft velvet nothing, a voice said, "RUN."

Instantly, Carter felt PANIC. Terror. He had to run, to get away from that voice, that presence, something terrible that wanted to catch him, hurt him. And though he couldn't feel his body, he began to run, to feel, to race away from the voice as fast as he could, and he felt his heart pounding, a tightness around his chest, burning in his lungs as he labored for breath, and then he became aware of the world around him--red stone walls and white granite floor, iron sconces and the smell of burning incense... like an old church--and he was he was clutching a bouquet of white lilies in one hand, a hand encased in a white, lacey glove that came to his elbow, and with the other hand he was lifting the full skirt of his white silk dress, struggling to run, hair in his eyes, but he had no time to stop, to slow down, because SHE was behind him--Slave Lord.

"I'm coming for you," he heard the woman say in a high, mocking voice.

"No." He whispered, panicked, running, running blindly, having no idea where he was going, just running and running.

"Turn and face me like a man," he heard Slave Lord say.

"No." He whispered, and then he called out, "someone help me."

Was his voice higher? Like a woman's?

"Be a man."

"No," Carter whispered. "I can't anymore.

"Do it."

He saw an arch ahead. Golden sunlight pouring into the darkness, warming the red stone, motes dancing in the golden rays. He ran for it, finding some new strength. He would escape. He would be safe.

"Coward." Slave Lord said.

Carter reached the sunlight. Stopped. He stood in the sunlight, feeling its warmth, and he felt his courage returning. He turned, the sunlight lighting up his pure white dress, flashing in his golden curls and sparkling playfully in the diamonds of his tiara. "I'm going to beat you," he said in his new, slightly higher voice.

He heard voices from the courtyard. "What? Who's she? Is something wrong? Wait, is that the I Want Dick Dude?"

Glancing over he saw a crowd of people on a terrace, could see the palisades beyond. He realized he was at The Cloisters, a medieval monastery Rockefeller had moved to upper Manhattan and turned into a museum. Carter felt a surge of embarrassment as he realized he was standing there in a dress, but no matter. He had more important things to worry about right now.

Looking back, he saw Slave Lord standing at the other end of the hall in the shadows, tall and lean, wearing a man's suit. Her face lit as she drew in on her cigar and then blew a cloud of smoke into the air. She stared at him. Silent. Unmoving.

Carter tried to throw the bouquet he held to the side but found it had actually been tied around his fingers and wrist, so instead he twisted his arm behind him, hiding it. He squared his shoulders and stared back defiantly, his chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"Look," Slave Lord said, gesturing, and Carter glanced over to see he was standing next to a full-length mirror.

He saw--small. He'd lost so much muscle. Gotten so thin. The white dress he wore hugged a slender, girlish body, and the skirt flared out giving his hips a rounded, womanly shape. He wasn't as soft and fleshy as a woman, but there was slender, rounded softness to his arms and shoulders that scanned more girl than man, and his face--it was his face still. Easily recognizable, but slightly softer. He wasn't sure if it was the full make-up--the pastel eye shadow and pearly lip stick, the foundation and blush, or if his face had softened, but he definitely looked more feminine, a look that was enhanced by the flowing blonde curls that circled his face and tumbled down over his bare shoulders. Seeing himself dressed like this, looking so--- he didn't choose to say them, but the words tumbled out of his mouth effortlessly, words that Slave Lord had planted in him, forced him to say, his voice rising into a higher register, "I'm a princess."

He spun back to face Slave Lord, who still just stared at him silently.

"I'm a princess. You... you... turned me into a princess."

"Yes," Slave Lord. She started to walk calmly toward the slender, diminished form of Carter Blue, letting her eyes run up and down his body. "A pretty little princess. A little princess who is SCARED."

The fear and panic. It came back, and Carter found himself hyper-ventilating. He clutched the flowers to his chest and tried to regain his courage. No. No. Fight. Fight. His hands were shaking, his knees getting weak. He... couldn't and so he spun and ran out into the courtyard, one arm out wide, waving girlishly while the other clutched his flowers to his chest, and he screamed, "Save me. Help me. Someone save me." No. No. Be a man, he thought. Fight. But he had no choice. No control. He was a frightened little girl now, and he could only scream for help and look for protection.

The crowd backed away from the screaming girl, even as some of them recognized "her" as C3, whose escape in the park had been spread all over the world. Carter saw a tall, strong looking man and instantly ran toward him. "Help. Please."

The man stood, shocked, as the little man threw his arms around him and put his head against his chest. "Save me."

"Who are you running from?"

"A woman... she's the one who turned me into a princess. She's coming after me." He pointed fearfully back toward the archway he'd come from. The crowd turned and grew silent. They could hear footsteps. Laughter. "It's her. Don't let her take me." Carter begged, emasculated, terrified, hating himself for being so weak, so easily broken, but needing this big, strong man, needing his protection.

The footsteps grew louder. The voice clearer. "So, then, I was like, whatever, and she was like... whatever. So whatever, right?" And then a 12-year-old girl with red pigtails and an innocent face full of freckles walked out, saw everyone looking at her and said, "Whatever?"

The crowd began laughing, looking back at the cowering man in the white silk dress clinging to another man, and they laughed and laughed, snapping pictures and making their videos.

"Uh, I think you'll be safe," the man said pushing Carter away. "Okay, Princess?"

"No..." he said blushing with shame. "No... there was someone else... the Slave Lord.... She... she..." but no one was listening. They were all just laughing and smiling, taking pictures, and he felt the shame and humiliation, the utter hopelessness of his situation, and he stood there in his dress and cried, and cried, and he felt himself dying. He was beaten. Defeated. Humiliated. "I'm a princess," he said forlornly. "A princess."

And then he did the only thing that made sense to him, the only path he could see to end the mocking laughter, the shame, the nightmare that had become his life, and he started walking toward the balcony, and then he began to run as fast as he could in his dress, and when he reached the balcony he threw himself onto it, and he looked down at the East River, flowing so far below, and using his soft, weak arms he started to pull himself over, struggling, struggling, to throw himself down, down into the river, onto the jagged rocks, and end it all.

But then he felt strong arms grab him around the waist, and he was lifted into the air, and kicking and screaming he said, "Let me die."

And the man he'd run to earlier, the one who he'd begged for protection, carried him over to a bench, sat him down and said, "You just sit still. It's going to be okay."

"No." Carter struggled, but the man grabbed his wrists and forced his weak, shrunken arms to his sides, and Carter, feeling overpowered, began hyper-ventilating again, and then he screamed, a high-pitched, tea-kettle scream, and the man said, "hey, calm down..." looking frustrated and unsure of what to do with this screaming little princessed man, but then one of the women who'd been watching stepped forward and slapped Carter hard across the face.

"What? Ow." Carter said, stunned.

The woman looked down at him, shaking her head and said, "Enough hysterics, young lady. Now just sit there and be quiet, and someone will be here to help you soon."

Carter buried his face in his hands and cried.

When the men came to take him away, he didn't struggle or argue or care. He just passively went with them, clutching his flowers to his chest, and hanging his head in shame. He had little doubt that the men, despite their police uniforms, were more agents of the Slave Lord, and that they would soon be injecting him or chaining him to a radiator or some other madness.

They put him in the back of a patrol car. No one spoke. It was quiet. Just the crackle of the radio as the dispatcher called out for cars to go here, or there, or somewhere else. Carter calmed. He looked at the flowers that had been twined around his fingers and tried for a minute to untie them becoming more aware of the strange feeling of the dress tight against his upper body, the delicate straps over his bare shoulders, the gossamer material of his full skirt. He thought again of how he looked now--that slender body, his face looking so feminine, the flowing blonde curls.

He stopped toying with the flowers and reached up with his free hand, tugging on the hair. He felt is tug on his scalp. Was this his hair? Or had they just woven a wig onto his head? He looked at his hand in the lace glove, the pink frosted nails visible through the lacy mesh, tried for a moment to peel the long glove off, but found it impossible--the glove fit so tightly, and he couldn't manage to get it to slide down.

Of course, there were no handles on the doors in the back of the cop car. And if he did open the door and run, did he really want to be running around the Bronx alone--like this?

“I'm a princess.” The words had just sprung to his lips unbidden. Just like in the park, but this time they had come even more easily. And the panic and fear? The tears?

I don't even know who I am anymore, he realized. Slave Lord is reprogramming me. Making me helpless and scared, making me--what did the EMT say? Fit for looking pretty and having sex and nothing more?

I can't just give in to this, he decided. I have to fight it. But how?

He looked at the backs of the cops' heads--if they were even cops. And raising an eyebrow, he shrugged. It was worth a try.

"Where are we going now?" He asked, letting his voice slide into a slightly higher register.

"Shut up," the one with a shaved head said.

"I just wonder where we're going. Can't you tell me?"

Shaved head turned around and looked at Carter. He smiled. "You remember me?"

Carter shook his head.

"Yeah. Well, you're the one who gave me this crink in my nose," the man said, pointing to his Z shaped nose. "Spent me a year in Ryker's Island thanks to you."

"You should thank her," the other cop said. "It's an improvement, you ask me."

"Har har. Well, I don't she'll be breaking any noses anymore. Looks like she's going to be spending more time sucking cock."

"Never," Carter said.

"Oh? Boss says you're going to be spending a LOT of time on your knees, Princess."

"I'll get my body back, and then I'll find you and break your neck." It was a tactic Carter had used before in a tight spot. Provoking guys, getting under their skin, using it to make an opening, but this time he was surprised by the man's reaction as Bald Head just started laughing.

"You? Break my neck? Hahahaha."

"Go ahead and laughed. I kicked your ass before. Even now, like this, I could kick the crap out of you."

The man just laughed some more and shook his head. "You're cute when you try to talk tough," he said.

Carter felt his cheeks flush. His new reality seemed to weight down on him, a shocking realization--he was sitting here in a white dress, holding flowers, and he was as skinny and small as a teenage girl, and no one would respect him as a man anymore, no one would take him seriously, no man would consider him even the slightest threat. Just as he wouldn't have--didn't even see himself as any kind threat, take himself seriously. He was not, he realized, a real man. Not anymore. "Maybe... maybe I'm more dangerous than I look," he tried, not wanting to give up, to accept that he would not be taken seriously anymore, but the man just laughed some more, and not a forced laugh or even a mocking laugh, but the kind of laugh you here come out of someone when they see a kitten or a puppy trying to act ferocious.

"You remind me of my little sister," the other guy said. "It's like Betty Boop trying to talk trash."

"Oh my God," Bald Head said. "Oh my God, you're right. It's like getting threatened by Minnie Mouse... Hahahahaha."

And Carter crossed his slender arms and looked away as the men sat and laughed and laughed and laughed at him.

They drove down to the East Village, parked the car on the street. As soon as they opened the door, Carter kicked one of them in the knee and ran, but Baldy grabbed him by the arm, then threw him over his shoulder and carried him kicking and punching up a narrow set of stairs and to an upstairs apartment in an old Brownstone, where he plopped the little man down on a dirty cot, and Carter looked over to see Slave Lord standing there with a syringe, smiling.

Searching deep within and fighting the brainwashing and conditioning he'd been subjected to, Carter lunged at Slave Lord, hoping to somehow grab the syringe and stick it into HER, but Slave Lord easily stepped out of the way and Carter tripped over the hem of his dress and stumbled, falling onto his side and rolling on his back. Slave Lord straddled him, laughing, and the two thugs laughed. With her free hand, Slave Lord slapped Carter across the face. "From Princess," Slave Lord said, stabbing the needle into Carter's belly, "to prostitute."

Carter screamed in pain as the elixir flooded into his system, filling him once again with burning pain, but he did not pass out immediately. Slave Lord grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it, hard, forcing him to turn his head. "Look," Slave Lord commanded.

Carter opened his eyes, and he saw Maxine's face on a flickering old black and white television. Maxine was sleeping peacefully. "Turn the trick," Slave Lord says, "or I torture her."

"No."

Slave Lord slapped him and slapped him again. "The pain you're suffering now is nothing compared to what I'll do to her. NOTHING."

"Okay," he finally said, as much as anything else in the hopes she would let him pass out, run and hide from the agonizing pain in his body and the terrible agony he felt seeing Maxine on the screen, knowing she was still in danger, still a prisoner, still in the clutches of a depraved sadist. "Okay."

"Turn the trick," Slave Lord as Carter began to fade into the sweet, welcoming blanket of oblivion. "Turn the trick for Maxine."

Chapter 3

Again, our hapless hero found himself floating in a warm, safe place, a place where he felt nothing, needed nothing, but was merely calm and relaxed, where time didn't exist, and he was at peace. It lasted forever, and it lasted for only a moment, and then he became aware, again, of tremendous thirst. He was sooooo thirsty. And there was music... country music.... Hank Williams singing "Honky Tonkin'" and then he heard laughter and the sound of someone yelling, "Order's Up."

He opened his eyes. He saw a woman looking at him. She had curly red hair that spilled out from her little Taylor Swift cowboy hat, and she was wearing a tank top, her bright lime green bra straps slipping out from the tank top straps and so bright against her peachy skin. She was pretty, but really skinny, with no breasts. Big hoop earrings dangled delicately from her ears, and she had big, innocent eyes, and full lips, and he felt himself getting horny looking at her and thinking he would love to get a blow job, to feel those big, soft lips around his member. She smiled, and he saw she had dimples, and the whitest teeth, and God he wanted to fuck her so badly. He felt himself getting a little hard. Maybe he should say hi, because she was looking right at him, and he'd tell her she had a million-dollar smile... wearing all that make-up she was either looking for company anyway, either that, he thought, or else she's a... prostitute?

He looked down at his hand and saw long, lime green nails on a slender, delicate hand, and a bunch of delicate bracelets drawing attention to his tiny little wrist, and then he saw his green bra strap, and looking back up he saw his soft, pretty mouth dropped open into a cute little "O" as he realized that pretty red-head in the mirror he'd been wanting to fuck was actually him.

"Omigod," he whispered. He was sitting at a bar, looking into the mirror. Above the bar was a big pair of bull horns. Turning on his stool he saw people all wearing cowboy hats, country line dancing , and he was wearing a pair of tiny little Daisy Dukes that showed off slender, round, tone legs--a gorgeous pair of legs any girl would love and every guy would love to have wrapped around him. He could feel his dick hard, crushed inside those tiny shorts, and it made him both frustrated and relieved.... He was still a man at least down there, though he now had the face of an angel.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, to let that deep hunger he'd been feeling to bang himself pass. He closed his eyes and breathed. Breathed. Opened his eyes and looked at the gorgeous female face, at his little nose, his big eyes, and he closed his eyes again.

"You want another drink?" He heard someone say.

He opened his eyes and looked up a tall, dark haired man in white t-shirt and a pair of tight jeans. "Um... okay? He said, his voice still the slightly higher, woman's voice he had the last time.

"Cosmo coming right up."

Looking down, Carter saw a napkin with the words, "Turn the Trick" written on it.

He remembered his last meeting with Slave Lord. Maxine. He'd seen her there on the screen. Could it have been fake? Maybe. But she could be alive, and he could still protect her, even as he was now, and all he had to do was... turn the trick?

He didn't like the sound of that. Didn't think it was likely to involve pulling any rabbits out of hats. Looking around, he spotted the exits. Didn't see anyone who seemed like one of Slave Lord's thugs, didn't see anyone who seemed to be watching him.

He could make a run for it. Stop running on Slave Lord's hamster wheel, stop playing the game by her rules. He had allies. Friends. People he could gather and then go after Slave Lord. He stood up, glancing at himself in the mirror, seeing his sway back, his tight, high round ass, like a ballerina. It was so hard to accept this slender little girl boy was him now. He would run for it. Get help. Escape.

But no. Maxine. He couldn't risk harm coming to Maxine. Wouldn't. Even if it meant....

"This stool free, baby doll?"

He turned. A short older man with a huge belly and sleazy intention. "I'm John," the man said, licking his lips and letting his eyes caress Carter's face and body.

Carter crinkled his nose. It was the first time a man had leered at Carter, looked at him with a look of naked lust, looked at him like Carter was a piece of female meat. Carter's skin crawled. It was... gross to have another man look at him like that, and he recoiled at the feeling of disgust he felt as the fat, flabby man's eyes skim over his slender body.

John, oblivious to Carter's disgust, squatted on the next stool like a pregnant toad, his belly oozing out from under his greasy Miller Lite t-shirt. "What's your name, honey?"

"Dolly," Carter answered without thinking, knowing that was his name now, and the words of the Slave Lord echoed in his mind like a chant: turn the trick. Turn the trick. Turn the trick.

"Let me buy you a drink, Dolly," John said, reaching down and putting his hand on Carter's bare knee.

"Okay," Carter said quietly, forcing a smile onto his face.

John's hand slid up the inside of Carter's soft thigh, and Carter squeezed his legs together and slapped the hand away. "Stop."

John laughed. "Gotta pay first, right, babe?"

Feeling his face flush, Carter nodded. Swallowed.

"Relax," John said. He leaned in, his breath stinking of cigarettes and cheap beer, his Aqua Velva cologne mixing in to create a gag inducing odor of pure chemicalized sleaze. "This your first time, girly?"

Carter nodded. The man grinned, showing crooked, yellow little teeth. "I love breaking in new girls."

The bartender arrived with Carter's Cosmo, and John ordered another as well as a Miller Lite for himself. "Drink up, Dolly," John said.

Carter picked up his drink, and started to sip, and John shook his straw. "Work the straw, sweetie. I'll throw in an extra 10."

Carter sighed. Thought of Maxine. He had to do it. For her. He puckered up, thought of a woman going down on him, of scenes in movies where women had fellated a banana or a lollipop, and let the straw slip into his soft lips, and then he started to bob up and down on the straw, sucking and then glancing up from beneath his red curls and meeting John's eyes.

John's mouth dropped open, his eyes hard and glassy, and he let his hand drop to his lap. "Yeah... yeah... that's good."

Carter went back to working the straw, closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing and no one, to block it all out of his mind, but instead he saw himself, like he was watching himself from an overhead camera, saw himself in his daisy dukes and tank top, his little cowgirl hat and red curls, going down on a straw like some dumb little slut, and he was sickened at what he was doing, what he'd become, what he was about to do.

Someone help me, he thought. Someone save me. Don't let this happen.

"Oh... baby..." John said. "You drive me wild."

Carter felt like throwing his drink in the pervert's face, but he had to do whatever it took to save Maxine, and so he decided to push the scene forward, to get it over with before he puked all over himself in disgust. He finished sucking down his drink, set the glass down and climbed onto John's lap, straddling him and instantly feeling John's stiff member throbbing against his thigh.

John slipped his arms around Carter's waist, and Carter fought against the urgent need to jump off the man's lap and get away from that THING. Instead, he leaned in close and whispered, "you want me to... turn a trick?"

"Yeah. Yeah. God, yeah, you sexy little bitch."

"Hey," the bartender yelled. "Take it to the parking lot."

John stood, trying to lift Carter like he would carry the pretty little man out of the bar, but he was fat and weak, and his flabby arms failed him, and he dropped Carter to the floor after taking only one step. "Ow." Carter squealed.

"Oh, shit," John said, laughing. "Ha hahahaha. Oh shit."

Carter struggled to get to his feet, and John just stood there laughing, but then a guy who'd been watching took Carter's soft little hand and helped him to his feet.

"Thanks," Carter said, glancing up at the man gratefully.

John threw a fat arm possessively around Carter's waist and bellowed, "Yeah, thanks. She's a clumsy little dame, right? But a great fuck."

Carter cringed, blushed, looked down at his little cowboy boots.

"You with this guy?" The man said, eager for a chance to punch the fat drunk in the face.

"Yes," Carter said without looking up, putting a hand on the man's chest, realizing "John" had bigger tits than he did. "We're... um... together."

"Yeah. See? Now me and this hot little piece of ass are heading out for a little fun, so excuse us."

John started to steer them toward the door, but the man grabbed Carter's slender little wrist and said, "you sure about that?"

Carter's heart skipped a beat, and he felt a rush of gratitude for the man who wanted to protect him, but he had to do what he had to do. "It's fine," Carter said softly. "But thanks."

"Well, you be careful."

"Okay."

"And don't forget your purse."

"Purse? I don't..." the man reached down and grabbed a little leather purse with a western fringe from the floor next to Carter's stool and handed it to him. "Oh," Carter said slinging the purse strap over his shoulder, feeling silly and feminine and absurd.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go, baby." With his flabby arm around Carter's waist, John began to drag the fragile little man toward the door. Carter felt a rush of confused emotions--disgust as being manhandled by a fat old pervert, gratitude toward the man who'd offered to protect him--but then he heard, or thought he heard--the whispers---

"Is that HIM?" "No way. That's a chick." "No. He had his face done. That's HIM. It's the I need Dick Dude. I know it." Cameras flashed. His chin fell to his chest. He thought about that face he'd seen in the mirror--that pretty, big-eyed girl, the girl that didn't look anything like him, how did they know it was him? Was Slave Lord leaking the stuff out through social media?

John dragged Carter out of the bar, into the parking lot and into the back of a beat up, Bondo splattered VW microbus. Carter felt his heart race. The door to the van slammed shut. In the back--no seats. Old musty sleeping bags tossed about on the floor. Tattered black velvet posters glued to the walls and ceiling, and Carter crinkled his nose in disgust as he realized this was John's home--where he lived. It smelt like sweat, cheap beer, cigarettes and onions.

John slapped Carter on the ass. "You sure are a hot little piece of teenage ass, aren't you?"

Carter didn't know what to say or do. How he was supposed to respond. He wanted to kick the fat freak in the balls, but instead he forced himself to smile and managed a strangled little giggle.

"Let's get down to business," John said, licking his lips. "Do me."

"Do...? What...?"

"Do me. With your hand."

Turn the trick. Turn the trick. Turn the trick.

John sat back against the wall of the van, spread his chubby legs.

Carter crawled forward. He felt sick, felt his eyes burning, fought back the tears. He knelt there, his curly red hair in his eyes, on his hands and knees, frozen, and John just laughed and said, "come on now, girly. Get to it. Daddy's as hard as the rock of ages.'

Carter reached forward and pushing his slender hand under John's belly roll, undid the top button on his Levis and then found the zipper and began to pull it down. John closed his eyes and moaned. Carter soon had the pants pulled down, and closing his own eyes yanked down the top of John's underwear, the man's member popping free, hard and stiff.

He sighed. Do what you have to do, Carter. Be a man about it He'd never touched another man's dick, certainly had never even thought about giving another man a hand job, but now he reached out and wrapped his soft palm around the man's shaft and biting his lip, struggling against his tears and disgust, he began to slide his hand up and down, just the way he would do himself, and John moaned and said, "how much is this going to be, Dolly?"

"How much?"

"For the trick?"

Carter didn't know and didn't care, so he just blurted out the first number that came to his mind, "50 dollars."

As Carter kept working John, John fished in his pocket and threw a couple crumpled bills in Carter's face. Carter kept working, just wanting it all to be over with, ended, and John's moaning started to fall into rhythm with Carter's stroking, and they both got faster and faster, and finally John grunted, and Carter squeaked and jumped to the side as the man's jizz spurted into the air.

It was dirty and sordid and sad and disgusting, and Carter felt his skin crawl, and the tears finally poured free, rolling down his smooth cheeks, and he wiped his hand against one of the old dirty sleeping bags in disgust.

"Jesus, Dolly. You really know how to ruin the moment," John said with a chuckle. "You make me feel like a dirty old man."

"I'm sorry," Carter said. "It's my first time."

"Well, you got a lot to learn, baby doll. A lot. Take your money and get the fuck out of here."

"I don't..."

"Take your fucking money you nasty little bitch."

Carter didn't want the money, didn't care, but he reached out and grabbed the crumpled bills, and then as he started to turn and crawl out of the van, John reached out and slapped a cold steel handcuff around Carter's wrist. "You're under arrest for solicitation, sweetheart."

"What?"

"Like I said. You got a lot to learn, Dollface."

Carter found himself with his arms handcuffed behind him. John fished a walkie talkie out from among the sleeping bags and said, "the press ready?" An answer crackled back over the old-fashioned machine. "Oh yeah."

The double back doors to the van were flung open and Carter found himself blinded by flashing lights as a small group of photographers and camera men recorded him being helped out of the van and lead to a police cruiser. He heard one reporter, standing in front of the live camera for the local news: "So Carter Blue, also known as the superhero C3, continues his Charlie Sheen-esque meltdown as he is arrested for prostitution outside a country western bar in Poughkeepsie, New York. He is being led to the squad car behind us now."

Carter could practically feel the camera caressing his lithe body, taking in his long, soft, coltish legs, his round little but in those tight little daisy dukes, those slender little arms.

Carter slipped into shock, barely aware of the drive to the police station, his processing, the shooting of his headshots, which would spread from Kiev to Kabul, from Saigon to Siam and all parts in between before morning. He heard nothing, just mumbled and did what he was told, right up until the point where the cop led him to a large holding cell. It was painted lime green and white, with dim, buzzing light bulbs behind metal grating, and long, filthy benches along the back wall opposite the bars. Five big, burly men looked up at Carter with hard, hungry eyes that started with his curly red hair, lingered on his face, and then slid down his body as they mentally stripped him naked.

Carter instantly snapped out of his funk, the immediacy of the threat like a bucket of cold water in his face. He, standing there in his tiny little daisy dukes, showing off those long, smooth legs, his tight little top, his pretty face... so small and weak and vulnerable. His knees went together, and he put a gentle hand on the cop’s arm. "Um... can't I... maybe? A different cell?"

"What? The girl's holding cell?"

"Yes? Please?"

"You ain't a girl," the cop said, and he put a hand on the small of Carter's back and pushed the frightened little man into the cell. "Though, you are prettier than any of the girls we've had in here in a long time."

"You're not a girl?" One of the men said, standing. He was wearing a black leather vest. On the left breast was the image of a zombie eagle with a bloody dagger in its mouth-- sign of The Dead Eagle Gang.

"Boss, that's C3."

"What?"

"Yeah. I saw it on the news. He's been turning hisself into a chick."

"That right?" Boss said, stepping toward Carter.

"No," Carter said. "My name's Dolly."

"Dolly? Who the hell names a kid Dolly? You're s shitty liar for a woman," Boss said, and now he was towering over Carter, forcing Carter to back up until Carter was against the wall, trapped. "You do look like a broad, 'cept for no tits."

Boss's buddy, who went by the name Freak, stood slightly behind his boss. "Naw. That's C3. I saw it on the news. "

"Are you C3?" Boss said, taking Carter's chin in his hand and tilting his head back.

Carter tried to slap Boss' hand away, but Boss grabbed Carter's wrist and then tightened his grip on Carter's chin. "Ow."

"I don't think I believe this little thing is or could ever have been a man. Nah. Not even possible."

"Look and see," Freak said.

"Yeah," Boss said grabbing the top of Carter's Daisy Dukes. "Maybe I should just yank down these little shorts a yours and see what you got between your legs."

Carter struggled, trying to get away from the man, but Boss had him pinned against the wall, and Carter was too weak now to even push the man back in the slightest way. "Let me go."

Boss unbuttoned Carter's shorts. Slipped his hand down inside the tight denim, cupped Carter's soft, round ass with his bare hands. "That's a nice little ass," he said. "Real nice."

"Let me go," Carter said again, frustrated. Scared.

"You heard her," someone said.

Freak turned and said, "You gonna do something about it?"

"Yeah," the man said, and he smashed his fist into Freak's face, spun kicked him on the temple and then slammed his elbow into the back of Freak's head, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

Carter's eyes lit up with hope. This was a serious fighter. Someone who could protect him.

Boss threw Carter to the ground, and he fell down on his hip with a yelp. Boss turned to face Carter's knight. "You just made a huge mistake, shithead."

The man didn't say anything. Carter noticed the man stood in a perfect hapkido fighter's stance, his weight back, hands forward, protecting his center, and he was breathing calmly, his face empty. The other inmates started making bets, but Carter felt his heart flutter with joy. He knew fighters, and as Boss lumbered forward, a street fighter, all brawn and bravado, Carter knew that he was about to see that JERK get taken down.

"Oooooooohhhhh, Kung fu? You gonna chop me or pull some other kind of martial arts shit?"

The man didn't speak. He only waited.

Boss lunged. In a graceful and fluid series of kicks and sweeps and strikes, the man effortlessly beat Boss to the ground. Then, he walked over to Carter and reached down. "Miss?"

Carter took the man's hand and smiled gratefully as the man helped him to his feet. "Thank you." Carter said. "I was so... well anyway, what's your, I mean, can you tell me your name?" Carter's heart was fluttering, he couldn't focus, he was aware that he sounded like an excited schoolgirl, and it annoyed him that he was getting so giddy and silly, especially given the other man's impressive, masculine calm.

"I am Malachy Midnight, Dolly." He put an arm around Carter's waist, just like John had, but this time Carter leaned in, put a man on Malachy's rock-hard chest, and he smiled up at the man, feeling safe and protected as Malachy led him over to a narrow bench and helped him sit. Then, Malachy went over, picked up Carter's cowboy hat, walked back and plopped onto Carter's curly red head. "You look cute in that hat, miss."

Carter giggled and rolled his eyes. "I guess I'm supposed to be some kind of cowgirl???"

And then the wall exploded, and the cell filled with thick, grey gas. The gas blinded Carter, stung his lungs. Slave Lord. It had to be. He fell to his knees and tried to crawl away from the area of the explosion, but someone grabbed him and lifted him in the air. Squinting, Carter saw through the gas induced years that he was being carried over some man's shoulder. He screamed, "Malachy."

As he and his captor emerged from the cell, the man plopped Carter down on his butt and held something out to him. "Take this." He yelled.

Without thinking, Carter reached out and grabbed the blurry object, then bringing it closer saw that he was now holding a knife--a knife with a blood-smeared blade. He tossed it away, and then someone threw a hood over his head, his hands were quickly bound, and he felt a needle stab into his arm just before he faded out again, back to the soft, dark velvet world of painless existence.

Dr. Lester Posts a new Kirk Deep Fake

Capitalizing on the fact Kirk must now wear the female uniform, she seeks to further undermine his masculinity and command in part by making him seem delusional. Note: The actual uniform does not feature high heels, but Lester wanted to have some fun!

https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/1230821774

Mother's Son 7

(For story with images see PDF below)

Captain’s Log

I beat the Kobayashi Maru, and I’ll beat this dress.

I’m standing in front of the mirror in my room wearing my new uniform, the short little skirt showing off my long legs. I have great legs to show off, and I know it’s going to be that much harder to convince the brass I’m still the right man to command the Enterprise.

Based on my conference call with Admiral Komack, I may not have any chance at all to keep my position.

We’d dropped out of warp drive and were making our approach to Starbase 11, when I sat down for what I’d been told was an “informal briefing.” I connected the call, conscious to keep my shoulders back, my face blank, and the screen had flickered to life, old man Komack appearing. “Captain,” he said.

“Admiral.”

“Beginning the moment this call ends, you and all your crew will wear the uniform that conforms to your biological sex. In case that isn’t clear enough for you, Kirk, I expect you to wear the woman’s uniform.” His voice was hard, annoyed.

“Admiral, as you know, I’m not a woman–”

He cut me off. “You have your orders. There is already a great deal of grumbling throughout Starfleet as a result of your decision to violate regulations in the name of your own– false pride. I’ve even received complaints from women on your ship. You and all your crew will adhere to uniform regulations from this moment on. I’m not going to have a fleet-wide revolt because you don’t want to wear a dress. I will see at your hearing. Dismissed.”

The screen went blank. I thought about defying his orders, wearing a man’s uniform instead, but I knew that would only be used as evidence that I was emotionally unstable, suffering hysteria.  In other words, a typical woman.

As I sat there, the admiral’s voice came over the ship's intercom. “This is Admiral Komack. Starting now, the uniform of the day…”

I tuned him out. By making the announcement himself, he was clearly demonstrating a lack of faith in my command. Not good.

When he finished, I contacted Yeoman Tatum, my assistant. She was now a man. “You heard the admiral,” I said. “I’m going to need you to pick up new uniforms for me. I’ll scan myself in my quarters and send the measurements.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

I scanned myself: 36C-22-36. My figure mirrors more than a few lingerie models I’d admired over the years, starting when I was 12. I’d seen myself. I knew I had an hourglass figure now, but there was something about seeing those enticing numbers, knowing they belonged to me now– it was another crack in the armor. I turned to the side, looking at my chest. “C cups?” I said, shaking my head. “Me?”

I sent the numbers to Tatum, wondering what she would think about my figure. When she arrived a short time later with my packages, she kept her demeanor blank. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you, yeoman,” I said, tilting my head back to look up at the much taller man she’d become. “Dismissed.”

She hesitated. “Sir, I do want to say, I’m sorry.”

“That’ll be all,” I said. I’m not used to women feeling sorry for me. I’m used to them wanting to sleep with me. I’ve been getting messages from a lot of my former flings, and they’ve mostly all had the same ‘I’m sorry, if there’s anything I can do to help’ tone. It was like I’d been diagnosed with a fatal illness. I’d rather be hated than pitied, and I know that because Janice Lester has been gleeful about my sex-change, sending taunting messages of me dressed up like a traditional 1950s housewife. 

“Tear off the Band-Ade,” I whispered, opening the package, spreading the little yellow dress out on my bed. The pantyhose. There were also bras and women’s boyshorts– functional underwear, not meant as taunts. I wasn’t ever going to wear a bra. I’d made that decision. It was one last act of defiance as I asserted what little right I had left to live as a man.

And so I slipped on my first pair of pantyhose, stepped into my dress, reached back and managed to zip myself up– I’m much more flexible as a woman. Hooray me. Now dressed in women’s clothes for the first time, I looked at myself in the mirror, practiced my walk. Nope.

Unzipping my dress, I let it fall to the floor at my feet. I had to face reality: I needed a bra.

Seeing the way I jiggled and swayed without a bra was enough to convince me I needed– I almost choked on the word– support. The black jumpsuit had a kind of built in bra so the bounce hadn’t been so bad, but if I walked into my hearing with my breasts jiggling and swaying not a man in the room would be hearing anything I said. God forbid it be chilly and my puppies decided to stand at attention.

I picked up the bra. Made of a soft, cool material, it was a pullover kind of thing, not much different from a tank top, and yet as I touched it I found myself getting slightly turned on, and the thought of putting it on gave me confusing shivers. Bras and women and breasts and sex all went together, and I guess I still got turned on by seeing and touching a bra, even when I was going to be the one wearing it. I pulled it over my head, stretched it out and over my soft, round chest.

I made the mistake of taking a look in the mirror as I adjusted the cups, fitting my breasts into the soft fabric. I had my pantyhose on still, and now a bra, and I once more felt my brain frazzle as I got turned on by the sight of myself.

If you’re a guy and you never wore a bra --or needed a bra for that matter-- I can assure you it’s hard to feel like a man with those little straps across your shoulders, your back, the cups hugging your breasts.

Now with a bra wrapped around my chest, back in my dress, I looked in the mirror. I didn’t see anyone I could pretend was Captain James Kirk. I saw a young woman, cute in her little outfit. I knew what I would be thinking if this kewpie doll came to me saying she wanted to be a captain.

“You’re too pretty,” I said to my wide-eyed reflection, echoing Bones’ words.

I had my orders. There was nothing for it. I walked out of my room and strode down the halls of The Enterprise for the first time dressed as a woman. I felt foolish and ashamed. These clothes were not practical; they were meant to please men, just as I, as a woman, would now be expected to be sweet and agreeable for men. The thought made me want to vomit. I thought about the pictures Lester had of me in a housedress, wearing makeup, smiling brightly as I baked or cleaned house.

Never. Never. Never,

I kept my face blank and nodded in recognition of those I passed. The other changed women all had a chagrined, embarrassed look– the look of men who were wearing dresses in public for the first time, as well as pantyhose.  I just hoped I didn’t look the same outwardly, though I felt it inwardly. I needed to maintain an air of command.

The born women mostly all had a barely concealed gleeful look on their faces that seemed to say, “Welcome to our world, boys.”

In sickbay, McCoy went over evidence for my hearing. “One of your X-chromosomes is identical to the one you had before the change,” she said. “The other contains a great deal of matching material from your Y chromosome, so I can make a strong case to show you are, in fact, James Kirk.” She nodded. “That’s the good news.”

“The bad news?”

“There are other changes that may not help your case. We have women’s brains, JIm. Estrogen has an impact on brain development, and we have the brains we would have had if we’d been born girls, gone through puberty as girls. Also, in the same vein, we have a woman’s body chemistry now.”

“Meaning?”

“Come on, Jim. You remember how men talk about women, how we’re hormonal and that makes us emotionally unstable. We have lots of estrogen now just like their wives, their daughters, their girlfriends. And, of course, the increased libido thing. It doesn’t look good,” she said, touching me on the arm.

“I’ve faced worse odds,” I said, trying to convince myself. I stood up, tugging on the hem of my skirt. It felt too short.

“You look cute in that uniform,” McCoy said. “That isn’t going to help.”

“I know.”

“Oh, if you haven’t checked out my Deep Fakes, they’re pretty damn hot,” McCoy called after me. Of course, she would be the one who was thrilled to have racy photos of herself out there, fake or not.

I nodded to Chapel as I left, headed back out into the hall, milling among my crew. I had an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia for the near future. These could be my last hours as the captain of the Enterprise. My last– what was this? Ahead of me, walking down the hall, her back to me, was what looked like a child. Is this bring your daughter to work day? I wondered, quickening my pace to catch up with her, thinking to dress down whatever crew member had brought this girl onto my ship. I touched her on the shoulder, she turned and looked at me, a quizzical look on her face.

Collins

Collins walked down the hall, no longer the only changed girl wearing a woman’s uniform. He had mixed feelings. He’d been self-conscious, sure, about being a guy wearing girl’s clothes, but it had also made him feel special– bold, daring and, of course, there was his whole thing with Breen.

The only thing that marked the changed men now was their short hair. They all had boy haircuts, while the not changed women had long hair, elaborate updos. It was the style for women in Starfleet. Given the way things had gone with Breen, he felt pretty certain he’d have a hairstyle like that soon enough.

He felt a hand tap him on the shoulder. Turning, he saw a pretty young woman in a gold uniform, who suddenly looked surprised and embarrassed. “Collins?” She said.

Only then did Collins realize he was being addressed by Captain Kirk. “Captain,” he said, surprised. Collins hadn’t seen the Captain since the day they’d been changed into women, and seeing Kirk’s pretty face and now in the woman’s uniform for the first time, Collins had not immediately recognized the– man?

“I’m sorry about this,” Kirk said, plucking at the hem of his dress, seeming to realize as he did so it looked like a very feminine thing to do and then looking even more embarrassed and uncomfortable. “How are you holding up?” The two of them had been on the landing party together– the first batch of crew to find themselves transformed. They’d landed as men and woke as women with smooth faces, soft voices. There was a kind of kinship in that.

“As good as can be expected,” Collins said, and Kirk noted right away the little man now spoke with a feminine lilt to his small voice. In fact, Collins stood in a feminine manner, and Kirk noted now, in retrospect, that he’d been walking like a girl as well, which was one reason Kirk hadn’t read the little blonde as a changed man. Collins, for his part, wasn’t sure what to say. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask the captain how he was doing. That sort of chit chat didn’t happen between officers and crew.

Without thinking, Kirk started to pluck at Collins’ hair. It was something Collins had been getting used to. People treated him like a child due to his small size. “You seem to be– adjusting,” Kirk said, finding himself disturbed at how the big, powerful man seemed so diminutive not only in body but in spirit. He was so– feminine.

“I guess,” Collins said, not used to having these kinds of conversations with his captain. “I mean, what choice do I have?” He giggled and smiled.

“What choice,” Kirk repeated in a whisper. “What choice, indeed.”

Just then, Spock approached. “Captain, A word.”

“Good seeing you, Collins,” Kirk said. He watched Collins walk away, his walk so fluid, so graceful. It made Kirk think of the pictures of himself in a dress, baking pies. Did he really have a choice?

Collins glanced back at Kirk as the Captain turned to speak to Spock. The Captain had a very nice figure, a pretty face and standing there in his dress, held tilted back to look up at the Vulcan, he looked just like any pretty little woman on the ship. It was the uniform. He didn’t look like a captain anymore. He looked like a girl.

Then, another thought popped into Collins’ head: I hope they get together. They’d make such a cute couple.

He ended up at the PX. Hannah was there, as always. ‘Hey, cutie,” she said. “What’s your boyfriend want you to get this time?”

“Makeup,” Collins said. “He wants me to start wearing makeup.”

Hannah smiled. “I’ll get you everything you need.”

Dex

Dex hated everything about being a woman, and it showed. Walking down the hall, the skirt of his dress swishing around his legs, he glared at everyone he passed, his face an angry challenge; go ahead and say something.

Just the act of walking infuriated him. His chest kept bouncing, his butt. What kind of stupid design is the female body anyway with all the bouncing and jiggling, he wondered?  A crewman walking toward him gave him a once over and offered an approving smile. Dex was about to tell them man to go to blazes, but in just the most perfect of timing, he felt a serious cramp and instead dropped his eyes, moving away, ignoring the man and everyone else.

He’d thought at one point to just hide in his room until they’d reached Starbase 11, then make a run for it, but he’d been summoned to work, no excuses. Insane, he thought, insane, that he– Dexter Jackson– was a woman, wearing a dress. On the rag. It didn’t seem possible. Couldn’t be possible.

He swaggered into the security room. “Cowgirl!” Barkley said, referencing the Deep Fake videos that had been sent around.

“You wanna start something?” Dex had said, hiding his embarrassment at the little girl voice he now had, charging right up to the man. “You wanna go?”

Barkley went right back at Dex. “Maybe you don’t own a mirror, but you’re just a girl now.”

“I can still kick your ass,” Dex shot right back, raising his hands. “Perneltium Combat doesn’t take strength, and I’m a master 4th class.”

Barkley nodded. “Okay. All right. I’ll see you in the ring sometime.”

“Why not after our shift today?”

“I’ll be there,” Barkley said, looking down into Dex’s hot, angry eyes. Damn, he thought, she is fine as hell when she’s angry.

Dex stared into the other man’s eyes, cementing the challenge, but there was something new that had come out as the two fought and Dex shocked himself as he thought, “I want to kiss him so bad.”

To be continued

A little more Kitty McCoy

Dr. Kitty sure is enjoying life as a woman! New Chapter 8/15/25!

GOW: Dr. "Kitty" McCoy

The good doctor, upon seeing his Deep Fakes, responded, "Finally!"

Another Glimpse of Paige's Dream

Everlass Promo

I think some of you might enjoy this promotional video for Everlass 22.

https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/In-Hiding-at-a-Girls-School-22-1229095468

Everlass 22

Shocking revelations! Like and Comment!

Th Cruelest Deep Fakes!

Janice Lester seeks to undermine Kirk not by circulating sexually suggestive images of him in his new body but by portraying him as a traditional wife.

A Man's Guide to PMS

With most of the men of The Enterprise now women, HR decides to put out a video to help them deal with their monthly visitor.

https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/A-Man-s-Guide-to-PMS-Star-Trek-TOS-Gender-Swap-1228034000

Some Star Trek Gifs

Mother's Son 6 (NSFW)

(For story with images see PDF below)

Captain’s Log

Kang sent me a picture of his junk. Idiot. I was I my quarters when the message came in, and I opened it thinking it was something business related. In deference to the blushing ladies of his now all-female crew, Kang was following us back to Starbase 11. We still hoped to find some way to reverse the sex-changes. I opened the message and there was his stuff with the words: Thirsty, Miss Kirk?

Of course, I deleted it right away, but now the image of his Johnson keeps popping into my mind. Each time my body reacts with an embarrassing clench. I’m being haunted by a phallic phantom.

This body—these urges. I need to do something to quiet them. It’s time to see the doctor.

I’m not sure what to make of McCoy. She’s either the most well-adjusted member of the new women or she’s gone insane. She’s changed her hair.  Her speech, her mannerisms– she moves and acts more like a woman every time I see her. It’s a mature femininity, the kind you would expect from a woman her age, but unmistakable femininity. Is it because she’s been having hot, crazy sex as a female, enjoying every shadowy crevice of her new body? I don’t know.

She’s also made changes to her office. It was austere, to say the least, before her change. Just bare walls. Now, she has plants, paintings on the walls. It’s a woman’s space. Oh, and the air– it smells like vanilla and coconut from her scented candles. I imagine McCoy in a blue, woman’s uniform. She looks comfortable in a dress, comfortable in her life as a woman.

I feel comfortable, too, surrounded by all her girly claptrap. It bothers me. Am I going to go girl? Will I find myself hanging pictures of flowers on my walls, wearing panties with polka dots?

No. Never. Even if some part of me wanted to hang a Killian dream catcher above my bed and begin writing in a diary with a pink pen, I would refuse. I will be Kirk. I will always be Kirk.

Once McCoy got done telling me about her threesome with two other new girls involving hot wax and handcuffs, I saw the opportunity to segway into the topic that brought me here. “Speaking of – relieving tension.”

“Jim,” she said, sitting forward, excited. “Are you ready? I’m telling you, you’re going to love it. I know this girl–  really knows how to introduce a man to the pleasures of the female body. She’ll curl your toes, give you an orgasm like–”

I sat back, a little terrified by how excited she was. I held up my hand. “Stop. Stop. I’m not ready for– that.”

“Then, what?” McCoy said, deflated.

“I want to try some…” I cleared my throat… “self pleasure. I wonder if you can get me a– um– well…”

“A vibrator?” McCoy said, matter of factly, cupping his hand and making the motion to suggest a hand job. 

I nodded. I didn’t want to say the word. I didn’t even know if I could say it. “Yeah. That.” I spoke in barely a whisper.

“Jim,” McCoy said. “There’s no need to be ashamed. We’re women now, and we might be for the rest of our lives. Sex toys are part of the experience. Own it, sister.”

I regretted bringing it up and inducing McCoy to go into some kind of girl power sexual seminar speech, but now that I’d mentioned it there was an insistence from my body that I follow through. “Just– can you get me something? I need to keep this confidential.”

“Come,” McCoy said, “come.” He went to a cabinet. I followed him. When he opened it I couldn’t help but gasp. The shelves were piled with vibrators, dildoes, leather and cuffs and whips and things I couldn’t even name. “Take your pick,” McCoy said with a grin. “Or would you like a recommendation?” She picked up a very large, very realistic looking – you know.

“Um, yeah, maybe something a little less…” I picked up a – you know. It didn’t look realistic at all, which was a relief, though even the shape of it and the knowledge of what I planned to do with it caused something to clench inside me in anticipation.

“You’re such a scaredy cat,” McCoy said. He loved the fact he was now the more wild and free of us.

“I am,” I said, holding the– you know–  away from me and with just the tips of my fingers. “Where can I hide this?”

“That’s what she said,” McCoy laughed, touching me on the arm. “I’ll get you a box.” She smirked. “I mean, another box, because you–”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said. “You’re hilarious.”

Collins

Collins toweled off after his shower and dutifully slipped into his panties, hooked himself into one of his lacy bras. This set was white with little pink bows. He knew Laura wanted him to be a feminine woman, but wasn’t a bra enough? Did it also have to look like something from the Bambi Doll collection?

He fitted his breasts into the cups, slipped his thumbs under the straps and adjusted their position. He tugged at the underwire. Bras were tighter than he’d expected, and he doubted he’d ever get used to the feeling he was wearing a harness, but the cups did keep his breasts from swaying and bouncing around so much, and he was vaguely aware that slipping into a bra made him both more and less comfortable at the same time.

He pulled his jumpsuit on, zippered it up. He now knew everyone could see the outline of his bra, so he dreaded showing up for his shift at security. The guys were always busting each other’s balls– and he was sure to get a razzing. Of course, there was also the whole Slut Bunny fiasco for him to deal with. He sighed. Damn. It was really a pain in the ass being a woman.

Turning his back to the mirror he craned his neck, feeling a surprising gratitude for the fact his thong left no panty lines. “Thank goodness for thongs,” he said, his voice dripping with irony. He hadn’t noticed pantyliners on the backsides of many of the women on The Enterprise before the change. He was pretty sure they weren’t all wearing thongs. He wondered what their secret was? He would have to ask someone. Not that it mattered for now. As long as he was with Breen, he’d be wearing whatever she told him to wear.

He had a lot to learn and experience about being a woman, he thought, glancing at the box of tampons he’d tossed into a corner. It was Starfleet issued, and they were called “At Liberty” and featured images of happy, frolicking women. “Yeah,” he said, “Periods are FUN!”

In order to save the changed men embarrassment, the PX had sent care packages to all the new women– tampons, pads, pills for PMS and douche kits that promised a “fresh scent.” There was a box of pregnancy tests, which was another female thing he had to worry about now.

He wasn’t sure if it was really an act of kindness or an insult.  He really didn’t want to be reminded of his pending date with Milady Cramps, as the girls on Basel 3 had called it when he was a boy.

When he was a boy. It already seemed less real, that life when he’d been a boy.

As soon as he walked into the security office, Murphy and Jackson stood, clapping. “Slut Bunny!” Jackson shouted. “Shake it, baby.”

Collins knew the guy code. When guys busted on you, you had to show you didn’t give a shit. He raised his arms over his head and shook his hips. “I’m a naughty girl,” he cooed, in a mock breathy voice like in the video.

“I can’t believe they put that shit out there,” Jackson said, punching Collins on the shoulder. “Idiots.”

Collins rolled his eyes and sat down. “I don’t even want to think about it.”  He noticed Dex was missing. Maybe it just wasn’t his shift, Collins thought. Who knew?

Later once he’d gotten off duty, he once again ran into Benny, his smirking ex. “Hey, Bunny,” she said, but even as he braced himself for more of her taunting the smile melted away from her face. Just then, he felt a pair of strong hands slip around his waist even as Laura Breen’s leather and cedar cologne surrounded him. “Who’s your friend?” Breen asked, giving Collins a kiss on the head.

Benny stared, seemed about to say something, then huffed and turned as if to walk away.

“Hold it,” Breen said in a deep, commanding voice.

Benny froze.

“Don’t mess with my girl.”

“Okay,” Benny said, dropping her head, walking away, clearly shamed.

“Oh, my God,” Collins said, his voice rising to that higher register he couldn’t avoid when he was turned on. “Thank you.”

Breen turned Collins around and kissed him, her hands cupping his ass, squeezing, lifting, feeling. When the kiss ended, she searched with her fingers and found the waist band of his thong, tugging on it. “You’re wearing your panties.”

“Yah,’ Collins whispered, blushing, putting one of his small, soft hands on Breen’s hard chest.

“Let’s go.” The two almost ran back to Breen’s room, stripped out of their clothes and jumped into bed. They made love all night and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning when Collins came out of the shower, towel wrapped around his body girl style, he saw the woman’s uniform laid out on Breen’s bed along with a pair of nylons. Breen stretched propped up on one elbow right behind the little dress. She nodded toward the dress, a playful smile on her face.

Collins had never won an argument with her, so he reached for the dress, meaning to take it to the bathroom and change, but Breen said, “You need to shave your legs. I want to watch.”

Collin’s eyes drifted to the bulge in Breen’s shorts. It would be worth it, he reminded himself, he let the towel drop to the floor, arched his back and thrust his breasts out, giving his man a good look at him, reminding her that she was getting something special, too.

In the bathroom, Breen handed him a can of shaving cream and an old-fashioned pink razor. “No Easy Laze?” Collins said, looking at the ancient technology. These days, people shaved with lasers, not sharpened shards of metal.

“This is sexier.”

Collins smiled and rolled his eyes as if exasperated by this latest kinky fantasy, but he liked being sexy for his man. He put on a show, lathering up one leg, his movements sensuous as he caressed the foam across his soft skin. Breem leaned against the wall, watching, her eyes intense. Collins lifted the razor, letting the light flash off the blades. He brought it to his thigh, smiling as he drew it across his leg so slowly it seemed he was moving in slow motion. Droplets of foam dripped from his thigh, each stroke of the razor revealing more of the soft, glowing flesh of his now smooth leg. He made his way down to his calf, and then once he’d made himself smooth, he wiped his leg with a towel. He ran his fingertips across his now hairless skin. “So soft,” he whispered in his breathy, flirty voice.

When his legs were shaved, Breen had him shave his arm pits. They both knew what this was all about- once more, Collins playing the women, making himself smooth for his man. When he was done, Breen caressed his leg. “You need to be smooth from now on,” she said, her voice husky. “You wanna be smooth for me, right?”

Collins bit his lip and nodded. 

He’d worn stockings as part of the outfit Breen had picked for him, so he wasn’t surprised when he pulled on his pantyhose how the material felt so cool against his skin, how it tingled and massaged his legs each time he moved.

He’d never worn a dress, and as he tugged the hem down, feeling the skirt swirl around his thighs, his slender arms bare, he felt more like a woman, more feminine. His shame as a man at wearing a dress was countered by the look the woman he was becoming saw in his boyfriend’s eyes. Laura made him walk back and forth, demonstrating his efforts at a more feminine walk. She was obviously getting off seeing him like this, and Collins was tuned up as well. He expected Laura to take him in his dress. He imagined her bending him over a chair, yanking his panty hose down and–

“Let’s go,” Breen said, offering her arm.

“Go?”

“I want to show you off. I’m so proud of my girl.”

“We’re going out?” Collins said, facing another fear. People would see him dressed in the female uniform. What would they think? He was pretty sure they wouldn’t think he wasn’t much of a man, and, well, these days he wasn’t. Collins had been turned into a woman against his will, but once he went public in a dress people would think it was his choice and- well, he wasn’t one of those men.

It’s Laura’s decision, he told himself, trying to feel better about. I’m doing it for her.

He took Breen’s arm. He felt proud, too, to have captured such a man. He could feel his cheeks grow hot. They walked together down the hall, like a high-school couple that wanted everyone to know they were together. The people they passed took notice. Collins was famous now as “Slut Bunny” and he thought he saw smirks on the faces of more than a few of the women they passed. Women. The unchanged. They're laughing at me, he thought. He’d been a man among men. Now, even the girls thought he was something less than them. Yet, he had Breen. They didn’t. He slit his eyes at the smirking girls, part of him feeling triumphantly female.

Breen steered the two of them into the mess hall. It wasn’t as crowded as in the past. Most of the changed were still eating alone in their rooms or gathering with small groups of changed friends. Eyes turned on the beautiful couple and the murmuring died down. Breen was one of the tallest men on the ship and already legendary for her sexual prowess. Collins was the notorious Slut Bunny. They were a celebrity couple, and Collins was wearing a dress. Collins?

The feeling he was more a woman than ever grew stronger. A dress. Collins couldn’t believe he was wearing a dress in public, the girl’s uniform, his stockinged legs shimmering. He looked even more tiny and delicate standing next to Breen, who pulled his chair out for him and put a hand on his shoulder as he sat.

The mess hall always smelled like fried chicken, and that hadn’t changed. Breen sat. “I think we’re an item,” Collins whispered.

Breen nodded. “Beautiful girls always attract a lot of attention.” She enjoyed the bight smile that brought to Collins’ pretty face. Like all women, he lived for compliments. “I’ll order for us,” Breen said, tapping out an order on the menu pad.

Collins grinned. He’d never had a date order for him before, and it felt– sexy.  “Such a gentleman.”

The food came. Steak and potatoes for Laura. Chicken Caesar salad for Collins. Oh, and a banana. Collins raised a slender eyebrow and smirked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Breen shook her head. “Appetizer.”

“Everyone is watching,” Collins whispered.

Breen nodded. “Give them something to talk about.”

“I take back what I said about you being a gentleman.”  Collins picked up the banana and peeled back the yellow peel, revealing the firm white pulp. Another, deeper push from Breen. Perform fellatio on a banana in public. Even a lot of women wouldn’t do that, and he was a man and there was so much static in his head about blow jobs. He stood on yet another female precipice. Everyone was watching, and they would all think he was the kind of guy who did this, and it was an insult men threw toward other men, but they expected it from women.

Am I really going to go through with this?

Collins thought about standing tall, a hard on raging, a woman on her knees, smiling up at him, pulling her hair back… the image of her faded and he saw himself as he now appeared looking up, smiling, a cock in his hand. I’m her now, he admitted to himself. I’m the woman. He looked at Laura. She looked so excited. Well, he thought, gathering his courage, Dad  always did say if you’re going to do something, do it right.

Remembering how women had done it for him, he licked his lips and  slipped the banana into his mouth, feeling it against his tongue, the roof of his mouth, sliding it deeper, then deeper still, the sweet, sugary taste bringing a rush of fluid into his oral cavity. He bobbed up and down, eventually slipping the banana from his mouth, a string of silvery saliva stretching from his mouth, clinging to the tip. Collins giggled, shocked and amused at what he'd just done in front of all these people, then he playfully slipped just the tip of the fruit between his lips and bit the tip off. “Oops,” he said, giggling.

“Ow,” Breen said, putting her hands over her junk. Then, they both laughed.

Breen smiled and nodded. All around the room, people stared, mesmerized, like they were watching a live action porno. She basked in the glory. This is my woman, she thought. You’re right to be jealous.

Collins held the banana next to his smiling face. It glistened with his saliva. He giggled and took another bite.

Dexter

Dexter Jackson had opened the box of At Liberty tampons, tore open the plastic wrap and now stared in horror at what was about to be the first thing he put into his vagina. It was a plastic tube, a string and a bit of cotton sticking out of the end. An “applicator” the directions on the box said.

He always hated everything about tampons, even the wrappers. If his women ever left even so much as the plastic wrapper around he would explode, and never mind if she was so disgusting as to leave a used tampon or pad on top of the trash. As much as he loved and appreciated women– and he really did– he found the idea of their bleeding everything month disgusting.

Now, he was  a woman, and he was bleeding, and the experience hadn’t changed his mind. The woman thing was disgusting. His room smelt like blood and copper.

Dex had not even begun to process the reality that he now had a woman’s body when he’d started to bleed. Feeling dirty, rather than run to sickbay and have everyone on the ship know about it, he’d watched one of the “helpful” videos that had been put out to help the “changed boys” understand their menstrual cycles. Everything about it had made him sick from the smiling, cheerful demeanor of Sue Chen to her message: “You’re not sick and there’s nothing wrong with you,” she’d said, grinning, “what’s happening to your body is perfectly natural.”

Sue loved it, and all the woman loved it—men having periods. He could tell. Beneath their fake smiles was a kind of feral glee at the thought that all these men were about to be dealing with – ugh.

He’d had the symptoms– headache, tiredness, irritability, but he’d had them since the day he woke up as a “she,” so it hadn’t occurred to him he was about to have his– thing. He was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, his legs spread just as the instructions had indicated. He put his hand between his thighs and then he slipped the applicator into what the girls in the video referred to as his “vaginal opening.” He squirmed, his skin crawling as he felt himself being penetrated for the first time. There was no male experience he could compared it to, or none he had ever had, at least. It was a feeling only a—woman-- could ever know, and he hated it, his mind ran from it in terror as he tossed the applicator against the wall, hearing it clattering to the floor.

In spite of himself he found himself crying.

“I’m not crying,” he hissed to himself. “It’s mood swings,” he murmured. “It’s a symptom of hormonal-- Fuck. Fuck.” He remembered times his women had been sitting around crying for no reason, and he’d always thought it a sign of how weak and sensitive women were.

“I’m not like them. I’m not a woman.”

He pulled up his underwear, took his robe from the hook next to the shower, wrapped it around himself and went back to his room. He’d taken a sick day and wondered if he could just hide in his room for the rest of his life. Suicide was not an option– probably not an option. He came from Cabelorose, and suicide was strictly forbidden. What did the scriptures of his people teach? “Face whatever trials the Elders place before you. To refuse your destiny is the greatest sin or all.”

My destiny. He looked in the mirror at the woman he’d become. The scriptures also taught that a woman had a duty to marry and bear children. He could never go back to Cabelorose, he decided. He could never face his father and mother, his sisters, having been reduced to a mere woman.

“Well,” he thought as the tears subsided, going to his computer, planning to research how to disappear, get a new identity, start a new life. There was an email from Gigi Lauren, one of his ex-girls. He opened it and saw an image of himself=- his new, female self, with her arms behind her head, thrusting her tits at the camera, dressed up as some kind of cowgirl prostitute, on her knees. Deep fakes. Someone had put out slutty deep fakes of him. His vision blurred as he found himself crying once more, his body shaking with sobs.

Next Girl of the Week

Who would you like to see in the next Girl of the Week Deepfakes?

GOW: Dex Jackson Deep Fakes! NSFW!

Security Man Dex Jackson joins the victims of the Deep Fake craze as people can't get enough provocative videos featuring the "Boys of the Enterprise."

https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/1226856626

Princess Serrenina Short Video

This video portrays an apocryphal scene where Serren is having his debutante ball, and he's excited to see and dance with Devin. Mostly just a fun video for Brother Bewitched fans.

https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/He-s-a-Romantic-Girl-1226313684

Everlass 21

Transformation Gifs-- plus Serren being girly

Some of these you may see again later as part of longer, edited videos.

Stop Teasing Your Sister Cute Video

Trent, the mean brother from Stop Teasing Your Sister 2 is now living as a girl full-time and thriving as a model and influencer!

Thanks for your support! If you haven't read it, you can find it in the Mega Folder.

https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/He-kept-teasing-his-sister-Now-he-s-a-girl-1225734944

August Mega Links

(Security Man Collins getting his bra snapped for the first time)

All the stuff I ever posted to Patreon plus much more! Thanks for your support!

Link: https://mega.nz/folder/kmgACTZJ

Decrypt Key: sNWCQQ5xhZ42gbeotOsuaw

Mother's Son 5 (NSFW)

Captain’s Log

A good tea bad biscuit kind of day. I’d been scheduled to meet with Admiral Holt via video conference, but a crisis broke out as pirates raided a border system and he had to cancel. I’m ordered to maintain status quo, which means continue to make my way back to SB11. That’s the good tea.

The bad tea? Word of my new sex has spread, and some degenerate got an image of my face and has spread deep fake porn featuring “Captain Cutie Kirk” around social media. I’m looking at one of the pictures now of “me” on my knees with one hand raised like I’m fending off an attacker. It’s violent and it doesn’t exactly say, “Captain Material.” I hope Kang doesn’t see this.

Women have had to deal with this since the early 21st Century, much more so than men, and I  admit freely I never fully understood their talk of being “violated.” I do now. Seeing myself portrayed like that I felt like someone punched me in the stomach. It was the most overt act of disrespect I’d experienced in my life, and I burned with shame thinking that people were looking at these pictures, guys were probably getting off looking at them. Thinking about me. 

I briefly thought, and it was a brief thought, I might make some sort of announcement, let the crew know if any of them saw these images that they needed to know they were not real and to remind them of proper decorum, but I decided it was a terrible idea. It would only make me seem weak. I would maintain as I had always done.

I talked to Bones about it. In her usual way, she simply dismissed the whole thing. “Welcome to hot girl life,” she said. “Better get used to it.”

Another punch in the gut. Get used to it? The images gave me chills for other reasons. One of them showed me wearing a corset, with a come hither look in my eyes. Was that in my future? Was that what it meant to be a woman?

Speaking of being or at least feeling like a woman. Spock had offered to work with me on developing fighting techniques I could use in my new body. It meant a lot that he had chosen to support me in my quest to remain captain, and that he wanted me to be able to defend myself. Of course, I knew I had romantic feelings toward Spock ever since he beat up Kang for me, but I convinced myself this would be all business, and I could control feelings. Did I think about putting on a little sports bra and a pair of short shorts as a “joke?” Yes, I did, but instead I wore a baggy sweat suit.

How did it go? Let me put it this way: I won’t ever do that again with Spock or any other man. The third time he pinned me, it was all I could do to keep from kissing him, grabbing his junk. Having a man handle me like that, grab me, control me, left me feeling hot and wet and very much a woman. I really hate that I’m so into dominant men, but I can’t help it. I’ll have to avoid any kind of physical contact in the future, with Spock or any male for that matter. I’m feeling desperate, but my mind is stronger than my body.

So as not to leave a record, I used one of the computers in sick bay to do a search: How to deal with sexual frustration as a woman. The top three answers: Self-pleasure. Distract yourself with a hobby such as pottery or gardening. See a sex therapist. I decided self-pleasure was very likely in my future.

Collins

Collins looked back over his shoulder. Really? He asked with his eyes. Breen, who stood off toward the back of the PX pretending they weren’t together, nodded. She motioned with her hand: scoot.

Collins gathered his courage and walked toward the back of the PX, where clothes were issued. He almost turned right back around when he saw Hannah at the counter. He instantly had a mental image of her on her back, hair spread around her face, looking up at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. He’d been straddling her at the time, getting ready to make love to her. He felt an ache inside as he remembered what it felt like to have a raging boner. She’d head great tits, he remembered, picturing them, and that memory made his own tingle in response. That ruined that, he thought. Wonderful.

They’d slept together a time or two back when he was a man. She was still a woman, an attractive one, and he cursed that he was going to have to do what he was about to do with a woman he knew. Maybe she won’t recognize me, he thought, as he approached the counter. Here’s hoping.

Hannah looked up, got that look on her face people make when they’re trying to remember a face, then smiled, her eyes going wide, “Brad?” She said, giving him a quick once over. “Brad. Wow.” Like most of the changed, Brad looked like the female version of himself– like his own sister, so it wasn’t unexpected Hannah had recognized him, but just damned inconvenient. It made what Breen wanted him to do all the more embarrassing.

“It’s great to see you,” Hanna said, falling back on social conventions. “Though there’s so much less of you.” She held her hand out like she was measuring him.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Collins said. People loved to remark on how small he was, it seemed. He didn’t love it, but what could a guy do? “You look great as always.”

Breen, listening in, smirked. This whole scenario was a fantasy come true, and the fact Collins and Hannah knew each other just took it to a whole new level. It wasn’t to be cruel, though some may have considered it so. She loved the idea of a man being forced to play the girl, and it was happening now with Collins.

There was a pause, Hannah went into clerk mode. “What ya need?”

“Oh, um…” Collins voice trailed off. “So, well, the thing is, well, um…”

Hannah raised an eyebrow. Collins was barely speaking above a whisper, and his cheeks had blushed pink. He looked so cute. What was he trying to ask for? She couldn’t guess.

Collins moved closer. He gestured for Hannah to lean in. There were some others milling about the store, and he didn’t want anyone else to hear what he was about to say, the words Breen had given him to say.

Hannah made a curious face and leaned down. Her own curiosity was growing.

Be a man, Collins told himself. Just be a man and do it. He spoke the words Breen had scripted: “My boyfriend wants me to get some sexy lingerie.”

Hannah couldn’t hide her shock. Boyfriend? Collins? She remembered him well. He’d been a bull of a man, a powerful, domineering lover. Now he had a boyfriend? And he wanted lingerie? No. There was no way. Not a man like Collins. “Ha,” she said, “you almost had me.”

“I’m serious,” Collins said, the words coming more easily now that he’d started. “Lace. Bows. You know. My boyfriend. It’s for– he wants me to get it.”

“Oh, my mistake,” Hannah said, feeling awkward because she felt she’d made it more awkward for Collins. “I just assumed – well, anyway. Sure. Have you looked in the catalog? I can…?”

“You know, can you pick it out for me? It’s hard for me to make decisions for myself since I, you know, became a woman.” It was another one of Breen’s lines. Collins had laughed when she’d told him to say it, but now saying it out loud, claiming to be this kind of woman who needed someone to think for her, he felt like– it made him feel a feminine fool.

Hannah’s demeanor changed. She put her hand over his and said, “Of course, sweetie. Let me put some things together for you.” Her tone of voice had changed. It was the tone she used when talking to other women as friends.  Collins seemed so shy and feminine now her heart went out to him. “Oh,” Collins added, as Breen had told him, “I’d like to try something on as well. While I’m here.”

“Of course.”

Hannah scanned Collins to establish his sizes and then led him back to the changing rooms. The bashful boy soon found himself standing in front of a former conquest in sexy lingerie that celebrated every one of his soft curves. She looked him over, girl to girl, and nodded her approval. He’d only been a woman for a short time, yet already in everyday common moments he wouldn’t be focused on his gender, his body unless it demanded attention in some way. Now, though, with a pair of panties cupping the empty space between his legs, the bra lifting his breasts and a woman looking him over, he couldn’t help but cringe at this curvy new shape, at what he’d lost and what he'd been afflicted with. He just hoped the sex was worth it.

Hannah checked Collins out, admiring his skin, his figure and how perfectly it was packaged in the hot red lace. Given his openness about his boyfriend and the lingerie, Hannah felt comfortable complimenting him the way she would any other girl. “You have a banging body,” Hannah said. “Damn girl. When your boyfriend sees you in those things he’s gonna lose it.”

Collins smiled. He didn’t know what to say or think. He felt both flattered and ashamed.

He changed back into his regular clothes while Hannah went to put together some other looks for him. It was kind of sweet, she decided, that Collins wanted to please his man. She wondered how many of the other guys would be willing to do that?

Collins, now back at the counter, looked at Breen. She was grinning, her eyes with that hard look that gave him chills. She walked over and gathered him in for a hug and a kiss, loving the fact that people were there, watching, seeing how she’d tamed this man. “That was so hot I could take you right now,” she whispered in his ear, and Collins giggled and sighed.

When Hannah came out with packages in each hand, Breen stood behind Collins, her arms draped possessively around his waist. “I picked out some nice things for you,” Hannah said. “Do you want to–”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Collins said. “You always had great taste.”

“Laura,” Hannah said, turning her attention to the big man. “You’re the boyfriend. I should have guessed.” Collins noticed her flirty demean right away, and he felt a flare of female anger.

“Hannah,” Breen said. She turned Collins around and kissed him once more, wanting Hannah to see her claiming Collins, wanting Collins to be seen being claimed. It was such a turn on for her to introduce Collins to the role of the dutiful girlfriend.

Hannah, for her part,  enjoyed the spectacle,  thinking, if any man on this ship can turn a man femme, it’s Breen. Sadly, another customer had gotten in line, so she had to move on. “Next?” Hannah said.

“We should all three get together sometime,” Breen said with a wink. “You know what I mean.”

Oh? Hannah thought, intrigued. Did I just get propositioned for a threesome?

Later

Breen watched as Collins, arms behind his back, struggled and then hooked the backstrap of his bra, then ran his fingers under the slender bra straps, adjusting them, lifting his breasts.  She loved seeing him practicing his female skills. It had been fun putting a bra on him and teaching him to do it, and it was fun seeing him struggle, a big  macho man wrestling with a dainty little strap of lace. His face was so focused, so intense as he tried so, so hard to accomplish something a 14-year old girl could do with ease.

Breen cupped his ass and squeezed at the same time she cupped one of his breasts over the stiff, lace cups of the bra, lifted and squeezed. Collins was standing in front of the mirror, watching her fondle him. He wore the lacy little thong panties, a tiny triangle of mysterious black silk between his legs. “And you want me to wear panties all the time? In public?” He said, hoping she would tell him the whole thing was a joke, but Breen just grunted yes. “And a bra?” Another grunt.

“All the time,” Breen said, grabbing the waist band of his panties, pulling so the thong slid even deeper between his ass cheeks. “Just the thought of you wearing these sexy little things under your clothes drives me crazy. You drive me crazy, little girl.”

“I don’t think so,” Collins said, slitting his eyes and squirming at the feeling of the floss between his ass cheeks. He turned and looked up at Breen. “It’s—I don’t like it.”

Breen met his eyes. Good, good, she thought, excited that he was challenging her. It would make it all the more fun for her when she pushed him into doing wearing panties full time. “You are going to wear panties all day everyday,” she said, playing with one of his bra straps. “And you need a bra for support or you’ll get stretch marks. I’ve made my decision.”

“You’re decision? I’ve been willing to go along with all these—things,” Collins said, “but I can’t wear a stupid thong all day just because. It just… It’s some kind of kink,” he said, spitting the word kink out like an accusation. “It’s all about you and you don’t even care that it makes me uncomfortable.”

Breen kissed him on the shoulder, then the neck. “It is a kink,” she said in a hoarse voice. Now her hand wrapped itself gently around his throat as she blew hot breath into his ear. “You’re wrong, though, that I don’t care. I care very much, and I’ll reward you by getting real hard and making love to you until you scream. It’s my fantasy. You’re my fantasy.”

Collins found himself panting now, and a soft moan escaped his lips. I’ll just lie, he decided. It was easier than arguing. “Fine. If it makes you happy.”

“I’ll know if you don’t wear them,” Breen said. “So don’t even try lying to me. If I see you in the hall, I’ll be grabbing that ass.”

It’s like she read my mind, Collins thought. He felt himself grow warm at the realization. We’re already so close, he thought, loving the feeling of intimacy, the sense they had a deep, soul-level connection. Of course, he would wear the panties if that’s what Breen wanted.

Breen watched as Collins put his overall on over his new underthings. He examined himself in the mirror, worried the outline of his bra might be visible under his clothes, but he didn’t see any sign of it. “At least it doesn’t show,” Collins said. He was looking back over his shoulder in the mirror. He didn’t see anything other than the smooth cloth of the coverall.

“I gotta get to work,” Breen said, giving him a kiss and then handing him the bags from the PX with the rest of the new lingerie.

Breen, herself, had always worn practical, functional underthings in and out of the bedroom. Collins was right.  It didn’t make sense to wear lingerie like that, clothes meant to be worn for seduction, as everyday wear. That, of course, was why it was such a turn on for her that she’d pushed Collins into it.  Also, he was wrong. His bra did show when the light caught his back at just the right angle, and then—yeah. The shadow of the straps was there. People would know security man Collins was now wearing a bra—just like a girl. She could have told him, but she decided not to. He was going to have to deal with life as a woman just like she had.

*******

No one knows I’m wearing a bra, Collins thought as he walked down the hall. He was highly aware of the feeling of his bra straps over his shoulders, the strap across his back, the thong deep in a place underwear was not, in his opinion, meant to be. Now that he was out and about, he felt a kind of thrill that he had it all on and that no one knew. It was like he was a spy or an undercover agent, like he was getting away with being—bad. He felt one of his bra straps slipping down off his shoulder, and without even thinking he plucked at it through the jumpsuit, tugging it back up. He noticed a woman looking at him, a small smile of empathy on her face, and with a gasp he realized he’d given himself away.

He’d have to be more careful.

Yet, one after another, he saw similar smirks on the faces of the people he passed. What’s going on? He wondered. Can they all tell I’m wearing panties?

He felt someone tug on his back and his bra strap snapped against his skin with a stinging “pop.” He spun. “What the hell?”

It was Bennie, his bitter ex and the one that had been such an ass to him the first time she saw him as a woman. Damn. He tried to step around her, but she blocked his path.

“Already wearing a bra? Most of the men have chosen to go braless, but I always figured you for a cross dresser, Bradley,” she said, only she pronounced it “Bradleigh.” He again tried to step around her, but she stepped with him.  “Or should I call you Slut Bunny?”

At one time I could have just pushed past her, Collins thought as he craned his neck so he could look up at her. “What the hell are you talking about?” He was beginning to wonder if Benny was insane. Her attitude and behavior were so unhinged.

“Your slutty videos,” Benny said. “You can do anything you want to me?” She said it in a mock, breathy whisper. Then, seeing the confusion, she laughed. “Oh, you don’t know?” She laughed some more. “Well, I can’t wait until you find out, you naughty little girl.” She noticed the bag in his hand and snatched it before he knew what was happening. “What’s this?” She said, reaching in and pulling out a pair of pink panties, which she held up at eye level. ‘Oh, my God. You’re wearing panties? Hahaha.” She tossed the panties on Collins’ head and walked on by , laughing, and said to someone in passing, “she doesn’t even know about Slut Bunny.”

Collins grabbed the panties, which were dangling in his eyes, and put them back in the bag, blushing, humiliated, wishing he could just melt into the floor. Everyone knew about a man that wore panties, and now everyone would know and what the hell. What the holy hell.

She’s nuts, he decided. Totally nuts. “Hey… hey…” he heard a woman calling. “Hey.”

He turned. She was one of the changed, she looked familiar, but he didn’t think he’d known her well back before the change. She looked Mediterranean with radiant skin and big, brown eyes. “Lopez,” she said, leading off to the side. “We got drunk of shore leave once. At that strip bar.”

“Oh, Yeah. I remember now. I’m Collins,” he said.

“I know,” Lopez said. “Everyone knows. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’d want someone to tell me.”

Collins waited. What was he going on about?

“Deepfakes,” she said. “Someone put out a bunch of deep fakes with you in them.”

“Oh, hell,” Collins said. “Come on.”

“I’m sorry,” the other guy said, touching Collins on the arm. Then, he suddenly seemed embarrassed by his own feminine gesture and said, “I gotta go.”

Even in his distraught state, Collins checked out the other man’s ass as he hurried away. Old habits die hard. His mind turned to the deep fakes. He didn’t want to think about them. He didn’t want to see them, but he already knew he would have to look.

Coming in the next week!

On deck:

Friday: As they head toward Starbase 11, the crew of The Enterprise continues to experiment and explore lives as the opposite sex. Captain Kirk confronts some sultry images that have been made of him and ponders their impact on his future.

Monday: Everlass races toward the conclusion of Season 1. Will Paige choose to remain a girl or will his manly fantasies win out?

Wednesday: Girl of the week: Miss Dexter Glass!

There will also be more videos on Deviantart.

GOW: Brad Collins

Collins shook his head in disgust as he looked at the faked porn pictures featuring his new face circulating around social media. "What's with the bunny shit?" Breen took the tablet from Collins and shut it down, pulling him in for a hug. "Try to ignore it. Everyone knows they aren't real." What was she actually thinking? I wonder if I can get him to put on some bunny ears?

From Boss to Secretary (NSFW)

A sexist boss gets put in his proper place-- a female secretary. The NSFW video linked here has the puppies but not the puppies if you know what I mean!

This is a collaboration between myself and the AI!

https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/From-Boss-to-Secretary-Gender-Swap-NSFW-1223725810

Grimmlord 2: Part 4 NSFW!!!!

Things get sweaty and sticky! Careful!!!!!

Little Sister Payback!

https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/Genderswap-Sister-s-Payback-1222749862

Stephen loved to tease his sister, especially about her needing a bra. He's about to find it isn't so funny when the cups are on the other chest!

Thanks for your support!

This was made in collaboration with AI. I created several short animated clips using AI, then edited them together using Wondershare adding sound and Voice. I would post these here as exclusives, but I am not allowed to post videos directly due to my site being Over 18. Enjoy!

Sacrifice: Images and Video

Just thought I would share some hot new images and videos promoting my book "Sacrifice." It's the story of an athlete who must embrace femininity during his everyday life to become more powerful when he competes. You can find it in the Mega folder!

There is a video with sound as well: https://www.deviantart.com/tgcooper-tgkadee/art/To-Win-as-a-Man-He-Lives-as-a-Woman-1222365958

Mother's Son 4 (NSFW)

(For story with images, see PDF below)

Captain’s Log– Unofficial

Add Uhura to the list of men I’m obsessing over. Of course, I really got the hots for her when she rescued me. That’s when it really started. I seem to be making a habit of being rescue since I became a woman. Here’s what happened: As we tried to escape the alien force field, the ship rocked. I would have been thrown to the deck, but Uhura caught me and held me. Now I want her so bad it hurts. I always thought women had an instinctive desire to be protected by men. It’s evolution. Maybe my body is stronger than my mind. I’m turned on by strong men. I can’t help it. Can I really deny that I’m a woman?

We did get free of the forcefield and have left planet Turnabout behind. My crew now consists of 60% females and 40% males. Many of those males used to be women.  As I pass other changed females in the halls, there’s a sense of camaraderie. We’re all experiencing the female side of things together, getting used to our new voices, our smooth faces. The bond we share– as much as I hate to admit it– feels like a sisterhood, or at least what I think a sisterhood might feel like. Now that we’re heading toward Starbase in the bodies of women, that feeling has only grown stronger.

Setting course felt like a major event. The routine now seemed profoundly significant, the beginning of what might be a new life and a new future for all of us. I found myself sitting in my captain’s chair, my shoulder back. I’d learned to maintain better posture. No more slouching. Spock pointed out that I didn’t look like much of a leader with my boobs sagging down to my belly.  The bridge felt different. Sulu and Chekhov were now women, so the girls outnumbered the guys.  Uhura and Spock were there representing the male side of things. “Ahead, Warp Factor 6,” I said, no longer cringing at the feminine sound of my voice.

“Warp Factor 6,” Sulu repeated, his voice even smaller than mine. Once we were underway, I stood.

“The helm is yours, Mr. Spock,” I said, reveling in the normalcy of routine. “I’ll be in sick bay meeting with Bones.” I couldn’t resist having a little fun, and so I approached the Sulu and Chekov. “You girls sure you’re up to this? You are made of sugar and spice.”

“Don’t forget about the vodka,” Chekhov said. “Lots and lots of vodka.” We all laughed. It’s like saying: Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from punching a hole in a wall. As I headed to the lift, I noticed Uhura watching us. Was I imagining it, or did she look like she felt a little left out? 

When I got to sick bay, Chapel, now a tall, lanky man with a handsome face, couldn’t help but give me a quick once over. I was getting used to it, and I understood it. As pretty as I am, I can’t expect people not to look. Besides, I checked her out, too. What’s fair is fair.  “Captain,” she said in her smooth tenor.

“Nurse Chapel,” I said in my own little tea kettle voice. Our eyes met. There was a moment. We both felt it as we silently agreed we’d love to bang each other. I plunged into Bones’ office, trying to ignore the attraction, though I was about to find out some very interesting information about why I was suddenly so into guys.

I sat, once more keeping my back straight. “Jim,” he said. “I’ve learned some interesting things about the way we’ve been changed. It goes beyond biology.”

I tensed up. Changes beyond biology could serve as ammo to anyone who opposed keeping me in command.  “And?”

Bones chuckled. “I’ve had a steady stream of blushing new females coming to see me, asking for birth control,” Bones said. “The only reason a woman would need birth control is if they are–”

“-- planning to sleep with men,” I finished, maintaining a detached demeanor. “So, you feel the aliens, what, somehow flipped our sexual orientations?”

Bones sat back, crossing his arms under his breasts with a smug look. He liked it when I guessed wrong. “Not flipped. Expanded. The crew have become hyper-sexualized. I’ve found a biological basis.  I have no idea how to reverse it.” He paused, thinking, and then said, “I have to admit, I’ve been feeling it myself.” He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a blister pack I immediately recognized as Star Fleet issue birth control pills, the same as I’d seen in Rand’s room back in the day.

“You?” I said. Bones hadn’t exactly been a playboy as a man.

Bones grinned. “I haven’t been this randy since I was in my 20s, but they say a woman hits her sexual peak at 40, so…” He let his voice trail off. It was odd to hear refer to himself as a woman.  How about you? Should I write you a script?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t experienced any psychological changes at all,” I lied. “I am not the least bit interested in men.”

Bones eyed me critically but let it pass. He understood. If he scripted me the pill, there would be a record of it, and  if word got out that Captain Kirk had become a man-hungry nymphomaniac, that would be the end of any chance I would remain captain. Sure, I slept around as a man, but I was a man, then. It was unfair, but I knew the double-standard.

As I made my way back to the bridge, I couldn’t decide if Bones’ revelations were  good or bad news. I’d been having feelings for men, and not just Kang. There was Uhura and Breen, too. I’d passed her in the hall. She was a thoroughbred, and my body ached for her, especially when I remembered what a badass she’d been when she rescued Collins. I still liked women and had gotten thirsty walking hallways now full of fit, athletic girls in skintight body suits. Sex had been on my mind– a lot. 

Could a nympho command a star ship? I started to doubt myself.

Collins

Collins glowed as he made his way back to his room after kissing and cuddling with Laura Breen. His time with Breen had been amazing, and she’d been so understanding about the whole sex thing. He felt a little annoyed at himself for freaking out the way he did, but, well, he hadn’t been prepared to face her– python. He remembered the moment he saw her big, hard dick rising from the thick thatch of pubic hair– his body clenched– he moaned softly. He’d seen a penis before besides his own. He’d been in a locker room, seen other guy’s junk, but he’d never seen a rock-hard boner like that, and never with a woman’s eyes. 

Back in his room, he threw himself on his bed and bit his lip. “Am I gay?” He wondered. He was fascinated with Breen’s cock. The veins. He wanted to touch it, squeeze it, he wanted to know what it would feel like inside him. “Holy crap,” he thought, thinking these feelings should horrify him, disturb him, freak him out, and yet he pretty much didn’t really care. The feelings were too strong to be ignored, and besides the fact that the jackhammer in question belonged to Breen made it an exception to the rule.

He tossed and turned, consumed with the blazing heat of female sexual frustration. Finally, desperate, he turned to self-pleasure. He’d watched a few videos of girls getting themselves off over the years. He’d been into it for some reason. He loved watching their faces, the little sounds they made before they came—or pretended to. It had been fun, but he now felt a strange sense of irony; he never realized he’d been watching training videos for his future life as a woman.

Overcoming a forest of fear, he first gently lay his fingertips on his vulva, squirming at the mysterious female pleasures that spread throughout his body. Frightened to be feeling something only a woman could know, he almost pulled away, but damn he was so desperate instead he slipped one finger between the lips of his vagina.

“Okay. Wow,” he whispered. It felt all kinds of good, and he arched his back as his body called out for more. He began to work his fingers in and out, in and out, no longer worrying about his manhood, whatever that even was, instead lost in animal lust. His nipples ached, and he first cupped one with his free hand and squeezed—yes== he whispered, but his body demanded more and, following some instinct he took his nipple between his fingers and pinched--

“Oh. Oh, my God.”

Working his breast with one hand, he plunged his fingers into himself with the other, and he worked and worked until he was soaked in sweat, and it felt good, but the pressure only built and built and built and he felt like these was a bomb inside him ticking and ticking and he needed to get off.

“Damn it!”

He couldn’t get off. He groaned and pounded on the mattress with his tiny fists. Why are women so hard to get off? God Damn it. He curled up and closed his eyes. He lay there, wishing he were a man again and could just rub one out with a tissue and handful of lotion. Finally, mercifully, he slept.

In the morning, he woke up thinking of Breen. He ate breakfast thinking of Breen. He knew she worked the same shift he did, and he thought he might just happen to be in the hall near her room later when she got off her shift. “Oh, hey, Breen,” he imagined himself saying, feigning surprise. “Fancy meeting you here.” No. Who ever said that? “What’s up? Yeah. I just happened to be here.” And then, giggling, he pictured himself just walking right up to her and pulling her down for a kiss, then whispering, “take me, stud.”

But, what if I come across as some desperate psycho? Maybe I should wait and see if she calls me? I don’t know. He remembered how she’d kissed him. How she’d held him, comforted him. She likes me, he thought. She likes likes me, right?

After his shower, Breen went to the mirror and really looked at himself, at his body, for the first time. He’d seen himself since the change, but he’d been unwilling to really see himself. Now, he stood naked in front of the mirror. He shrugged and watched as his breasts jiggled. He shook his shoulders and watched as his breasts swayed from side to side. He had great tits, and it was surreal now to look at his breasts with the same fascination as he’d had when he’d  discovered porn as a boy and seen his first topless woman. He had small, round shoulders. Slender little arms. A narrow waist and round soft hips. He looked at his legs, the rounded thighs, the swell of flesh at the top of those thighs right beneath the gap between his legs. He could ‘t  see his –V– but he saw the triangle patch of hair that he’d seen on so many women over the years.

Turning to the side, he checked out his ass and confirmed that, yeah, baby had back. “Wow,” he sighed. “I’m hot as hell.” It did not disturb him as it once had but pleased him as a new dimension opened in his mind. It pleased him because he knew Breen liked his new body.

Collins’ blissful morning interlude faded and frazzled as he headed to the security office for his shift. With every step nearer to the office, his body grew more tense. He clenched his jaw, wondered how much trouble he would get in if he just took a phaser and  disintegrated Dex, the a-hole. There was nothing for it. He had to face him, deal with him just like all the women before him had dealt with guys like Dex. He walked into the office having decided he would pretend like nothing happened and just make sure the two of them were never alone–

He saw an attractive  black woman in overalls sitting in the corner. She looked away and tried to shield her face, but Collins knew. The hot new girl could only be “Dex?” Collins felt thrilled to see Dex had gotten his. The prick. He had it coming. Dex sat with his knees together, and Collins thought about taunting him, making a comment about his tits or how pretty he looked, but – wait.  There was another new woman. Pale, freckles, red hair. Irish. Murphy. He was pretty, too. They all seemed to be pretty.  “Murph,” Collins said. “You, too?”

Murph rolled his eyes. He looked so cute. “I was in the last batch taken before we got out of the force field,” Murphy said in a bright, crystalline voice. “So much for the luck of the Irish, eh?”

“You have freckles,” Collins said, just to say something.

“Oh, I have freckles. And a few other things.” He actually cupped and lifted one of his breasts, looking bemused. “It took me an hour to shower this morning if you can imagine.”

Collins, who’d spent his early time as a woman trying to ignore his puppies, couldn’t believe how okay Murphy seemed with it all. Who was this girl?

“Now that half my team is women, I guess I’m going to have to remember to put the seat down,” Jackson said, seeming amused by the new composition of the security office.

Picking up on the joke, Murphy made a small fist and shook it at Jackson.  “You got that right, buster.”

“Speaking of which,” Jackson said, “time to drain the lizard.” He got up and headed toward the bathroom, paused. “It sure is good to be able to stand to pee, right ladies?”

“Shut up,” Murphy and Collins said, laughing. With Jackson gone, it was just the girls. Collins looked over at Dex. He was pretty, and he did have nice tits. Collins felt complete and total glee that the prick had been turned into a woman. He felt bad for the other guys who’d been made girls, but Dex – well, he had it coming. It was so tempting to rub it in,  but his dad had taught him to  be better. Don’t sink to their level. Collins decided to take the high road. He went over and sat next to the man.  “Dex,” he said. “I’m sorry…”

“Fuck you,” Dex said in a squeaky little voice. He got up and stormed out of the office, one arm draped across his bouncing breasts.

Murphy and Collins exchanged glances. “Maybe he’s having his period,” Murphy said, smirking, but as the words left his mouth both men grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. Periods were something they would both be experiencing sooner or later, and that was one thing they didn’t want to think about.

With the blushing Klingon beauties back on their own ship, there wasn’t so much to do.  Murph and Collins took target practice.  The day dragged by, and Collins spent most of the time thinking about Laura and her package. He needed to see her. He got permission to leave early, rushed back to his room for a shower and put on a fresh jumpsuit. Then, he went and found a place to linger down the hall from Breen’s room. He kept peeking around the corner, planning to come walking out as she was coming, sticking with the idea of pretending it was an accident.

Breen saw Collins peaking around the corner and smiled. A moment later he came walking out, pretended to just notice Breen and said, “Oh, hey!” The tip of his little nose was already pink. The former big, strong man was now a horny little woman, and Breen loved it. “Hey, beautiful,” she said. She saw Collins light up at the compliment, and she pulled him in for a hug, kissed him on the cheek.

A pair of changed women walked past, and Breen saw how Collins glanced at them, saw the look of feminine pride on his pretty face. She wasn’t wrong. Collins felt special to have other females see him in the arms of such a stud.

Collins wanted to just strip off his clothes and get down to business, but Breen had other ideas. She dimmed the lights, made drinks, put on music, a lonely trumpet sliding up and down the scales. They sat close together, kissing, sipping their drinks. Breen took her shirt off, and Collins unzipped his coveralls, climbing onto her lap, pressing his soft breasts against her rock-hard muscles.

He bit his lip, then whispered, “I’m ready. I won’t freak out this time.”

Breen ran her finger along his jawline, then rubbed her thumb against his cheek. There was a look in her eyes. Mischief.  “I need you to do something for me,” she said. “It’s a fantasy of mine. You want to be my fantasy girl, right?”

Breen was only half aware of what was being said. He needed to get laid so bad. He nodded. “Yeah, he said. Sure. What is it?”

“Look in the top drawer of my dresser,” Breen said, nodding toward the dresser.

Collins got up, headed toward the dresser, looking back at her, giggling. His mind raced, imagining handcuffs, or whipped cream or a gag– he’d been with some kinky girls. Breen watched as he opened the drawer, his mouth falling open, eyes wide with surprise. He reached into the drawer and lifted out a lacy black bra. “You want me to wear this?” He asked in a small voice.

Breen nodded. “Very much,” she said in a gruff, hoarse voice.

Collins hesitated. He didn’t want to wear it. A good rooting was one thing, but putting on lingerie? He felt embarrassed at even the thought of him being the sex kitten in this relationship. It was– a certain kind of woman who dressed like that for a man, and he didn’t think he was that kind of girl. “I don’t know how to put this on,” he said, hoping that would save him.

Breen went over to him, standing behind him, her rock-hard junk pressing against his ass. Collins moaned, his desperate need growing more intense. She reached around and took his wrists, guiding his hands until he held the bra against his breasts. “I want you to get dolled up for me, babe. That would be such a turn on. You want to turn me on, right?”

“Yes,” Collins whispered. Yes. He would do anything. He needed relief.

“I’ll help you,” Breen said, kissing him on the neck then the shoulder. Her voice was so deep, so hungry for him, it gave him chills. She took over. He let her slip the bra straps over his arms, felt it grow tight as she hooked the back strap then pulled the shoulder straps up onto his shoulders. It was tighter than he expected, and it cupped and lifted his breasts, which only drove him more insane with lust as he felt the soft cups against his throbbing nipples.

Breen kept kissing him, whispering compliments.  “Beautiful girl…so sexy… such soft skin… … dream girl…  She maneuvered him like he was a doll, and she was playing dress up. She slipped a lace thong up his long legs, pulled it over his hips. He made a small noise like a mouse as he  felt the floss ride up between his ass cheeks, and then he was wearing silky stockings that caressed his legs each time he moved, and then he found himself  perched on high heels, giggling, wobbling

The clothes made the girl. Squeezed into the tiny lacy things, he felt silly and feminine and sexy and foolish and—oh.  He hoped it would be worth it, because he felt like squeezing into these frilly little things had already changed him.

When Breen grumbled, “dance,” Collins giggled like any silly girl and said, “I can’t even walk in these things.” His voice was breathy and flirty and– who am I? He wondered.

“Dance,” Breen repeated.

Collins started to dance, just doing a side-step, at first just focused on not falling over as he wobbled on his heels, but as he grew more confident, he swayed his hips, lifted his arms over his head. Giggling, laughing, he turned and let her see his backside, glancing back over his shoulders, blushing. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said, his eyes falling to the raging boner tenting the front of Breen’s pants. The sight made him hot and thirsty. He was still afraid, but he wanted it now more than he feared it. He started to dance over to Breen, but she rolled off the bed, took a position behind him and guided him toward the mirror.

Feeling those big, powerful arms around him, once more moving him around like a living doll, guiding him– Collins moaned softly, thrilled, feeling so small and so safe. It was such a turn on having Breen take charge, and it was just as exciting for Breen to take charge of the little female that had become of Security Man Collins.

“I want you to see how beautiful you look,” she said.

Collins gasped as he saw himself in the mirror. He looked like a Video Sex Girl, dressed like that, a boy toy, a sex object. It shocked him, and yet pleased him, and he met Breen’s eyes in the mirror, and he could see she was loving how he looked, so he giggled again, resisting the urge to beg for them to finally have sex for god’s sake, because Breen was the man and it was her decision.

And she made that decision.

 A guttural groan escaped Breen’s lips. Breen picked Collins up and carried him to the bed, throwing him onto the mattress, and then she was on him like a wild animal, ripping his panties off, and then she thrusting into him, grunting and he didn’t even know it was possible for something to go so deep inside him, but he felt himself stretching, felt the walls of his vagina eagerly taking in Breen’s massive member, felt his body grasping at it hungrily. The bed shook as Breen thrust into him. Collins grabbed the sides of the mattress, bracing himself, and he was panting, “oh god… oh god… oh god…” The sound of himself, so much like a woman, turned him on, and it turned Breen on as well hearing this man calling out in his soft voice, like so many girls before him.

The couple stared into each other’s eyes as they made love. Sex had never felt so intimate to Collins, and he longed for intimacy, closeness, in a way he never had as a man. Breen grunted and sweated and pounded into him, sending his breasts bouncing with each thrust.

He felt the heat rise inside him,  the pressure build, that same ticking bomb waiting to go off, and then it was like a supernova in his belly and he screamed in ecstasy as he had his first female orgasm, feeling it from fingers to toe, and he felt Breen cum inside him as she grunted, triumphant, and then Collins was panting, biting his finger, and the room swam with the salty smell of their sex. Breen collapsed on the bed next to him, and Collins immediately pressed his soft little body against hers, and he realized he was crying tears of joy.

Breen fell asleep and snored.

Just like a man, Collins thought, biting his lip. But what a man.

Later when Breen woke, she sat up and stretched. Collins lay next to her, sleeping on his side, his face toward her. She enjoyed the sight of his pretty face, so peaceful. She gently stroked his shoulder. His skin was so soft. She’d given Collins a very warm welcome to sex as a woman, and it didn’t surprise her he was sleeping like a baby. Women tended to do that when they had a cosmic orgasm.

She grinned as an idea struck her, and she knew it was a good idea because her dick started getting hard as soon as it occurred to her. She woke Collins. He yawned, his eyes foggy, but as he focused on her face a sweet, happy smile spread like a spring flower. “Hey,” he said, and he bit his lip.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Breen said, giving him a kiss. “Coffee?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Collins sat up and wrapped himself in a quilt, too lost in bliss to process the fact he was no longer a virgin. This was something he would not be sharing with his parents.

Breen had an old-fashioned coffee set up in her room. She ground beans, tossed them in a French Press and then poured in steaming water. The room filled with the earthy smell of fresh brewing coffee, and Collins closed his eyes and sighed. “That smells so good.”

“Wait until you taste it,” Collins said.

They curled up in bed and sipped their coffee, and it was good, so good, and Collins savored every sip as well as the gentle rush from the caffeine. “Take a shower. Get dressed. We’re going out.”

“Where?” Collins asked. He didn’t want to go out. He wanted to just stay here, sipping coffee, but—well- Breen was the man it just seemed like he wanted to do what she wanted to do.

“It’s a surprise,” Collins said, grinning her devil grin. She held out her hand, Collins took it, and she pulled him to his feet, then sent him on his way to the shower with a playful slap on the ass. Collins squealed.

As he headed to the bathroom, he put a little extra sway in his hips and didn’t hurry, giving Breen a good look at his ass. He’d captured his man, and he was determined to keep her.