Big chapter this week! Hope you enjoy it!
By FoxFaceStories
A Commission for Slayerangel
Andre, Miguel, and Nicholas are three friends with a choice: either go to prison for their numerous street crimes, or undertake a form of community service at St. Elizabeth’s School for Girls. The young men take the offer, thinking it will just be a brief embarrassment. But soon they discover that they are being transformed into beautiful women with personalities more befitting a productive society!
Part 7: Circling the Drain
In his dreams, Miguel felt free. He was no longer a man, and no longer needed to be some alpha male he-man misogynist. Instead, he was Marcela, a Latina-goddess with perfect bronze-brown skin and a culo that made men trip over when they walked past her. She wore dresses only. She literally couldn’t not. Summer dresses, club dresses, evening dresses; anything that made her purely feminine and future wife material, and always showing off her proud breasts. And best of all, there was The Man.
The Man had no real identity, no face. He was always in shadow. Sometimes he was black. Sometimes he was white. Sometimes he was Hispanic like her. But he was always muscular, virile, and had a big, hard cock that her body positively begged for. In the dream she enticed him to bed, cooing and moaning as he kissed her tender neck, and then she spread her legs and let him remove her underwear, ready to receive his enormous girth. It was the hottest dream she could imagine . . .
And then she woke - no, he woke - feeling flushed and aroused and utterly humiliated. His chest had grown again, his ass as well, and he was certain that his black curls were now down to the bottom of his shoulder blades.
“Dios mio,” he muttered in his soft voice, sounding more latina than latino, “I swear these changes keep getting worse. I must be eating too much weird soy stuff. Too much feminine mierda in my food. Making me like a mujer, I swear.”
He got up, trying to purge that name ‘Marcela’ from his brain, but it kept returning, as did that sensation of wearing a free-flowing dress, breasts jostling in his bra, men looking his way, and The Man taking him. Mr Right.
“Mhmmm,” he moaned, smiling.
But that was when he remembered the events of several nights ago, when he had been with Katie. He had meant to display his dominance and show himself to be a real Alpha Male, capitalised and everything. Instead, he’d begged to become a trophy girlfriend, a beautiful housewife, a woman who got pregnant with her husband’s children and fed them with her cooking skills and with the milk from her body. It had seemed so goddamn hot at the time, but now he recalled the humiliation afterwards, and how Katie had exited after he’d cum, saying “looks like my work is done.”
“Fuck, and now I’m thinking all these gay thoughts!” he whined. “I’m such a pussy! Idiota!”
He slapped his forehead, trying to purge said thoughts from his mind and only partway succeeding. He’d had a wet dream, but there was little actual ‘wet’; his testicles were too small, and barely produced a thing.
“Something is extraña about this,” he noted. “Something is weird.” His mind pushed against the mental conditioning, very nearly breaking through as Andre had, but he didn’t quite make it. “Need to find my hermanas. Amira still hasn’t shown up. Andre. Mierda! His name is Andre!”
He got out of bed and headed to the shower, but not before inspecting his looks one last time. Damn, he was looking sexy. Obviously he didn’t have breasts, that would be loco, but the proud bumps on his chest looked like DD-cup mammaries, and that made him grin despite himself. His classes weren’t for another hour, so he decided to have a longer shower and really feel himself up.
Maybe that would get these sexy thoughts of being a future housewife out of his brain and get him back on track as an athlete again. The only problem was, his changing body was starting to feel like a drug to him. And if there was one thing Miguel knew, it was addiction and drugs. And the sensation of feeling his own breasts and curves was better than any drug he’d ever tried.
***
“It’s been, like, five goddamn days!” Nicholas whined in his airy, ditzy voice. With each exclamation, he bounced on his feet in agitation and anger, causing his chest to bounce more as well. “Where is he? This is totes way too weird!”
Miguel frowned. He’d taken to rolling up his shirt to expose his midriff, though he wasn’t sure why. It didn’t provide the same nice feeling as wearing a dress like in his increasingly constant dreams, but it was something.
“I don’t know!” he said. “He’s just gone missing! Dios mio, I’m starting to get worried, Nikki.”
“I’m not, like, Nikki! Stop calling me that just because it, like, totes suits my sexy body and stuff!”
They were in Miguel’s room, having just had their elective classes finish up. Nicholas was rapidly becoming a rising star in the cheerleading group, and was getting beauty tips from Bree, not even realising how much she was eagerly molding him on the orders of the Headmistress. Something about wearing that colourful green-and-white cheerleading outfit made him giggle and feel so free. Worse, he was starting to think about men more, just like Miguel, not that he’d fully admit it. A new group of men had just come in, a bunch of leather-wearing biker boys, and something about them just looked bad, and had Nick rubbing his soft, silky thighs together at the thought of. He found himself adjusting his hair and smiling at the new entrants, who scowled at the school’s surroundings just like he used to.
“Check those hot chicks out, Mal,” one had said to his friend. “Love a busty blonde.”
“Yeah, fucking A, man. I’ll take the cute redhead with the big rack. Love them gorgeous freckles.”
At this, Nick touched his cheeks, having overheard this while they passed. His freckles really had come out lately, becoming more prominent and cuter. For reasons that worried him, their words had actually made him feel warm and gooey inside.
“Like, why the fuck did they think I was, like, a super hot girl?” he asked.
Bree looked him up and down, a look of amusement on her face. “It’s a real mystery, Nikki.”
“My name is Nick!” he’d insisted, but in truth, even that was starting to sound wrong. It was why he’d fled quickly to Miguels’ dorm room to meet up with a friend and discuss the problem of Andre’s missing status. Of course, he had immediately noticed that his friend was looking far more feminine as well. This was because Miguel was embracing this new lifestyle and his own womanly nature far more than either of his friends had. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he had come to love home economics class, not to mention the courses on cooking and the after-school lessons on beautification he’d signed up to. He was wearing makeup now, a lovely red on his lips and some subtle foundation to really bring out his cheekbones, and he had recently begun work on his eyebrows as well, leaving them thick yet feminine.
Both men were starting to push up against their mental barriers, their bodies on the verge of that final change. But there were still some ways to go, some final denial to overcome.
“I’ve been asking everybody,” Miguel said, referring to Andre’s missing status. “The Headmistress said he’s been given some additional privileges. She’s a total bruja, though. I don’t trust her!”
“Then, like, who do we trust? No one, man! This place is, like, totally fucked! We need to find a way out.”
“No way! We’ll go to prison. Are you estupida?”
Nick waved his friend’s concerns off. “Better prison than, like, ended up all weak and pussy-like here, y’know? And all these weird dreams . . . mhmmm.”
He bit his lip, imagining the feeling of getting rammed by cocks, being mounted from behind. Riding men. God, so many desires that were so alien and fucking wrong, yet sounded so deeply hot.
“I’ve been having . . . dreams, too,” Miguel said weakly. He placed a hand on his ample chest. “Not my usual type.”
“There’s something, like, in the fucking water here. I swear I’m, like, getting all mentally twisted up or whatever! I’m sooooooo dumb lately too. I was gonna be, like, a super-successful businessman or whatever. I knew how to, like, manipulate losers and chicks and hurt them without leaving a mark and stuff, but now I, like, keep dotting my I’s with lovehearts and writing in pink and I can’t spell or understand, like, really long words. Bree is helping me but it’s soooooo suspicious because she’s got me wearing cheerleader skirts. Oh God, what the frick is happening to us, Marcela?”
Miguel froze. “You just called me Marcela?”
“I meant Miguel! Ugh, this is what I’m talking about. Why aren’t we, like, tough guys anymore? I tried to have some extra fun with Bree and I couldn’t even cuff her. She made me, like, get all turned on with . . . different stuff.”
Miguel gulped. “Same for me and Katie. It was . . . nice.”
“It wasn’t nice! It’s super weird and - woah.”
The door opened, and a woman entered. A very good-looking and strangely familiar woman.
Nick blinked. “Miguel, why is there a super hot black chick coming into this room? Do you, like, know her?”
Indeed, the woman approaching them was perhaps the most attractive woman either of them had ever seen, and this was at a school where each of the women seemed to only get lovelier each passing week (of course, they were getting lovelier, being fellow former men and delinquents like them). She had wide, childbirthing hips and an ass that jiggled. Her breasts were huge, absolute melons in fact, and she wore a sexy outfit that really showed them off; a tank top with a cleavage window that almost threatened to expose her dark nipples. Her hair bounced, a beautiful afro that hung down to her shoulders, the kinky curls perfectly maintained. And those lips! Nick could easily imagine them wrapped around his cock, not that he had much of a cock left. The fact that this lady was wearing very tight denim cutoffs that showed off her thick, dark thighs only increased her attractiveness.
“What’s up, you two?” she announced, hugging them both. “I really missed my besties. Jesus, y’all are fucking sexy. Those racks are tight. I mean, I got a better booty, but you ain’t far behind, know what I’m sayin’?”
She laughed, stepping back to inspect them, leaving the pair very confused.
“D-do we know you?” Miguel said, voice more heavily accented than before.
“Honey, it’s me! Amira. I’m not that changed, am I? You recognise your girl, right?”
Nick gasped and took a step back. “Like, what is going on? I’m too, like, stupid to understand! Someone explain.”
Miguel managed to pick his jaw off of the floor. “You - you’re Amira?”
She placed her hands on her wide hips. “That’s what I said! You two are acting so weird. I swear, my girls are crazy sometimes. But I love you all the same, I really do.”
The soon-to-be-latina trophy wife struggled with this information. Some kind of glitch was occurring in his brain, and the same was true for Nick, though he also had a latency problem due to his diminishing intelligence. It was true, this woman looked so much like Andre had the last time they saw him. So much so that they were, really, nearly identical except for a bigger bust on this lady, bigger hair, further beautification and so forth. And yet . . . their brains kept telling them that no, this was a totally different person. A woman, and not their friend. Miguel almost got a migraine just trying to think about it.
“I - of course. Amira,” he said. “I must have seen you around here. We’ve hung out a few times, right?”
“Of course we have!” she replied. “We’re St. Elizabeth chicks, you know that!”
Another strain in their brains. The information wasn’t adding up. Nick was rubbing his temples, groaning a little before pulling at his long ginger hair, as if trying to unplug the glitch manually.
“This isn’t making sense!” Nick cried. He moved to shut the door so no one would see them. “This is all so fucked! You’re not Amira, you’re Andre! You’re Andre, like, right?”
For just a moment, Amira hesitated, but then she just giggled and shook her head. “Andre? Who is Andre? I’m Amira. C’mon, Nikki gal, we've been BFFs forever. We all have. Why are you acting so weird on me all of a sudden?”
“You are Andre,” Miguel said. He stared at the woman, fascinated. “What happened? Why can’t you remember who you are?”
A single tear fell down Amira’s cheek, but she wiped it away quickly. “I do remember . . . wait, what was I talking about? Y’all are acting strange. C’mon, it’s me, Amira! Your gorgeous future superstar friend! Nikki, I was watching those sexy cheerleading moves today. You are so gonna rock the footballers of this world one day. And please ‘em, ha! And you, Marcela, those brownies you made were delish! I swear, I could blow my ass and hips up bigger eating them, but I gotta keep my figure as is so I can work that concert body. You are gonna make a man very happy one day, you know.”
Her words made Miguel feel like he was glowing, and yet they weren’t the right words.
“You are Andre,” Nick said. “Like, why the fuck are you acting like you’re not? Holy shit, are you, like, totes a full girl now? Oh God, what the hell!?”
Amira just shook her head, wiping away more tears. “What are you talking about, girl? I’m all woman and have always been all woman! I certainly don’t know who no Andre is!”
But she did. Inside her mind, Amira was forced to watch the conversation unfold, barely able to control anything, let alone her new body’s words. The Andre part of her was locked behind the brainwashing just as Headmistress Lillian had said, and all her attempts to warn her friends continued to fail. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t communicate the fate awaiting them all. It was only when she leaned into her new persona that she could vaguely hint at it, but the pair weren’t noticing.
“Hell, I recently got a glow up,” she tried to infer, gesturing to her beautiful body. “Can’t wait for you two to get the same! Trust me, it’ll make you both so much more beautiful. You won’t be able to resist it.”
The emphasis on particular words was a clear message, but Nicholas and Miguel weren’t taking in any subtleties right now. For the former, it was perhaps because her mind had become too bimbo-ish, but Miguel had no such excuse. Instead, she was looking at Amira’s body with something that looked almost like . . . jealousy? It confused the latina-to-be as much as it shocked the black beauty she was talking to. Why the hell would she want to be like that?
“Marcela, honey,” she said, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You’re nearly ready for your own glow up, I’d say. I mean, when I get word, I can send you a warning about when you’ll be roped on in, y’know?”
Finally, Miguel seemed to get the message. His lovely dark eyes widened, and the inference that Amira had just barely managed to communicate through her mental restraints caught on. The busty man nodded, taking a gulp as he realised that some danger lurked on the horizon.
“Si. Si. I - I think I understand. Thank you, hermana.”
“Oh, no worries, honey!” Amira said, suddenly all smiles and positively oozing confidence and charisma. “Anyway, I’d best get going. Me and Aura got some mad lyrics to record and some dance moves to practice for some upcoming performances. Trust me, we’re going to be stars, the pair of us! And I just can’t wait to go into production with her. She’s so fuckin’ hot, and this body likes to take it both ways, if you know what I’m saying!”
She walked away, her impressive rear bouncing a little with each step, her body all curves and no straight lines. She hummed as she went, as if utterly pleased with herself, but a slight discordance crept in, as if to emphasise her warning. Miguel strode across the room and closed the door, turning around and then resting against it. She had to take a panicked breath. He had to take a panicked breath.
“Nikki - I mean, Nicholas - I think there’s some trap waiting for us. Amira is trying to tell us-”
“Like, her name is Andre!”
“Whatever! She or he - she’s definitely a she now - was sending us a warning!”
“Like, what? She was all in on being a girl. It was sooooo creepy.” “I don’t think she could express herself properly. She was hiding something. Or forced to hide something. A secreta. Dios mio, I don’t know it all, but I think people are going to come for us, or invite us to something. And then we’ll change too.”
Nicholas gasped. “Into women. Into totes hot bimbo gals who just sooooo want to get big dicks in them, like in my totally hawt dreams!”
He gave a disgusted expression, repulsed by his own sentence. “God, I’m, like, circling the drain here, Miguel! I can’t tell what’s my thoughts and what’s not.”
“Me either. I feel like we’re going loco. They did something to our brains and our bodies, and I have to . . . I have to focus really hard to recognise it. Look at our chests! We shouldn’t have breasts!”
“Like, they’re not breasts, they’re just, like-”
“They’re breasts!” Miguel insisted. “Big tetas for men to feel and to give milk to beautiful little babies. Ohhhh, if I change more, I’ll be able to get pregnant. I’ll be able to be a trophy wife instead of a ladies man. My man could be the real track star, not me, and I would love him f-for it.”
Nicholas bit his lip. “And I could be a proper cheerleader, and a model, and - mmhm - have sex with all the big-dicked footballers. I could be a total sweetie and not, like, a total sociopathic monster or whatever.”
They both moaned a little, rubbing their thighs together, imagining the futures that had been programmed into it. Thankfully, Nick managed to snap out of it.
“No, like, NO! No fucking way! We can’t, like, end up like that, Marcela! Miguel! We have to escape!”
Miguel wiped his brow and adjusted his hair. It was so long and beautifully curly now. He nodded slowly. “Si. Y-you’re right. We need to get out of this. M-maybe if we get far enough away, it’ll wear off, or at least we can get our minds back.”
Nicholas agreed. “We can pack. I can, like, just put some cute things in and then we, like, blow this joint. Prison is better than ending up as a pussy! Way better than losing, like, my ability to be the one in control! I don’t want to be some weak pussy sub. I’m meant to deal out the power and pain!”
“Tomorrow,” Miguel said. “Between our first and second periods. It won’t be suspicious. We can return to my dorm and then get out of here. You’ve been looking at the walls; there’s a way?”
Nick wasn’t certain, but he nodded. “We’ll find one. I’m a goddamn cheerleader now. I’ll, like, vault over it if I need to.”
The plan was set, and it was telling that neither included getting Amira out nor mentioned her at all. It was too awkward and confronting to even consider. They simply needed to take care of themselves.
So why was Miguel already feeling guilty?
***
The next morning, both transforming men were nervous. Their changes were continuing, the walls of their mental conditioning breaking down. Miguel cupped his breasts as he examined himself in the mirror, admiring their large E-cup size. He observed the impressive roundness of his culo - his ass - and even went so far as to style his hair and put on his makeup as if by habit.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he told himself in his heavier latina accent. It’s so femenino. But if I don’t do it now, I won’t get the chance to do it again later when I change back.”
If he could change back. If he wanted to change back. Unlike Andre/Amira, who was utterly horrified at his/her changes when the brainwashing finally collapsed, Miguel had been finding an immense amount of purpose and self-discovery in becoming more female. Not only was he taking care of his looks more, but Katie had become such a lovely friend, and he’d taken to cooking and cleaning and weaving and stitching like a natural. It had inflamed a feminine passion in him, and those dreams were now nightly; those lovely dreams where he imagined being a submissive, dutiful wife with a strong, manly, and most of all virile husband who loved her very much, and could give her babies. Yes, give her babies. She, a woman. A gorgeous latina trophy wife who would be beautifully swollen in pregnancy.
She thought about that very fate now, trying to summon it as a warning to herself, but in the end it only aroused her, and she realised that her identity had switched; she was thinking of herself as female.
“Idiota!” she cried, smacking herself on the side of the head. “Estupida! Don’t give in, Marcela! Miguel! You can do this. Fight it off a little longer!”
To that extent, she got dressed in a loose male shirt and track pants, none of which fit her properly, being far too loose in some areas and far too tight in others. It was an unflattering outfit, which further annoyed Miguel as he’d been having a lot more Marcela thoughts lately about fashion. About dresses in particular.
“Don’t think about it, Miguel,” he told himself, pulling his male thoughts back in line, his male identity with it. “One last class with Katie. Have to say goodbye to her . . . maybe. No. Yes.”
He left, heading out to his final home economics class. Professor Walker remained encouraging and motherly as usual, fussing over Miguel when he arrived just a little late.
“Oh, just wonderful to have you, Miguel! I was getting worried. Oh, by the way, I have a little something for you.”
It was a practical class today, not a lecture, but Miguel was still surprised to generate such interest. The women took him by the hand and led him along to the side room, where Katie was waiting with a beaming smile.
“Surprise!” Katie declared. “A little something the professor and I put together for you!”
She was holding up a gorgeous yellow summer dress with white flower patterns upon it. It looked as if it had been sized perfectly - or almost so - for Miguel’s figure, with a lovely cinch for his tight waist and room for his expansive bust. He went ramrod straight at this, trying to fight off the curiosity that burrowed so deeply into him.
“I - I don’t understand,” he murmured. “Why?”
Professor Walker placed her hands comfortingly on Miguel’s shoulders. “Because you have been the ideal student, Miguel! I mean it! So many come through here, go through the motions, or simply need adjustment to their new selves. You are one of the few students, alongside Katie here, who has taken to the womanly arts like a fish to water! Or perhaps like a duck; you paddle away furiously underwater, catching up on all the feminine necessities, but by God you make it look so natural.”
“It’s true,” Katie said. “I barely needed to push you along at all. Just a little comment here and there and you’ve embraced it. I really do think you were meant to be born a woman, Marcela.”
“But you now you will be a woman,” Walker said. “In truth, in all the ways that matter.”
“It’s your destiny,” Katie said. “You just have to embrace it and wear this fine dress!”
Miguel shuddered. He’d been ambushed. Had they known this was happening, or was it pure coincidence? He tried to back away, but the dress was so lovely. He couldn’t be suspicious. He still planned to run away, but . . . God, his large boobs needed some support, and he yearned for the freedom and airiness that an outfit like this would give him.
“I - I suppose it couldn’t hurt to put it on?” Miguel said, shivering a little from the anticipation. “I mean, I’d look like some damn fine puss . . . a damn fine woman in it, right?”
The two women helped him remove his clothing. Miguel had never paid much attention in college, relying on his wealthy parents to get him a pass on everything, including his drug use. But now . . . he felt like he was on a different kind of drug, and the desire to learn more about this new type of living - a woman’s living - continued to grow inside of him. It wasn’t just brainwashing either, it was genuine, too.
“What a beautiful body,” Walker remarked. “So close to completion. Like yours was just two months ago, Katie.”
Katie gave an embarrassed nod. “I’ve learned to love it, like she is.”
“Indeed. Let’s get this dress on.”
Miguel had never felt so passive in his life. He was allowing two women to inaugurate him into a rite of womanhood. He knew this wasn’t him. He was meant to be the handsome athlete, the alpha male. The man who fucked chicks and put them in their place. Not violently like Nick, not with that man’s psychopathic malice, but simply by knowing how to deal with a chick’s insecurities and make her crave a man who could dominate her. Now, he was being dominated. Made more feminine by these women. Why then did it feel so lovely?
They put the dress over his head and then pulled it down. It had short sleeves to show off his bronze-brown arms, and had a belt that allowed it to pull tight around the waist and show off his figure, which the ladies proceeded to do. Finally, it was on. It was still a little loose in the bust and around his hips, but it looked gorgeous on him. It felt freeing. And when they brought forth a mirror for him to see himself in, there was no denying the utter feminine beauty of the woman Miguel saw in his reflection. That Marcela saw in her reflection.
“That’s the look of a beautiful woman who can catch a man,” Katie said.
“The kind of woman who can be a perfect wife, and a perfect mother,” Walker added.
And in that moment, she knew she’d already been defeated. How could she turn away from this? How could she abandon the life they were tempting her with?
“How do I finish?” she asked after a long pause. “How do I become . . . her? She is so . . . hermosa.”
Katie stepped forward, encouraged by their shared professor. She smiled, and took Marcela’s hand.
“Come with me,” she said.
***
Katie held her hand as they entered the dark chamber. She didn’t let go, and kept her smile up, even as Miguel’s male pride tried to resurface, crashing against the cliff face that was Marcela’s own stubbornness.
“Don’t be afraid,” Katie said, ushering Marcela forward into the light. “We all go through here. We all deserve it. Most don’t go willingly. A few of us, like you and me, realise we are happier as women.”
Marcela bit her lip. Her nervousness was growing, but so was her excitement. “I don’t completely understand.”
The Headmistress Lillian stepped out of the shadows and into the light ahead, smiling calmly. Expectantly.
“You will,” the woman said. “Come forward, Marcela. I am already so, so proud of you.”
The would-be latina did so, not even sure why she was doing this, only that her innermost soul needed to become a woman. Needed to be the figure in her dreams. The brainwashing was collapsing, but the true yearning remained. Even as she stood into the light beside the Headmistress, she recalled the VR experience pressuring her to become this other woman.
“Dios mio,” she murmured. “This was the plan all along, wasn’t it? To make us all women?”
The Headmistress nodded.
“Your plan?”
The beautiful woman nodded again, but gave a shrug at the same time. “Yes, and no. I have benefitted from my own treatments, as will you, but this school is one of feminisation, Marcela. It takes bad boys and makes them into good girls.”
“Why make me want to become a wife? A mother?”
At this, the Headmistress smiled, hugging her briefly. “That was not my specification. That was your parents. Observe.”
She gestured, and suddenly Marcela could see them; her parents above at the viewing platform. They were looking down on her with surprise, and her mother hit the intercom.
“Honey, it’s so good to see you again.”
“Mami? Why - I don’t understand.”
“We had to make you like this, Miguel. The drugs, the crimes, the girls . . . you were destroying your life. We hoped you would become a great athlete, but you destroyed that future. We failed you, and you became the worst type of man.”
Marcela wanted to argue, but couldn’t. They were right.
“You wanted la hija? Sorry, you wanted me to become your daughter?”
Her father spoke. “It was not our first choice, but it is what the school could offer. And when we learned that St. Elizabeth’s could give you a new life, one where you would be traditional and give us grandchildren . . . we had to take it.”
A few weeks ago, Miguel would have screamed and cursed at them. Called his mother a stupid bitch, his father a fool. But now . . . she found herself understanding so easily.
“I can become Marcela for real?” she said softly. “I can become a woman? I can become embarazada? Pregnant?”
“Yes,” his mother said, tears on her cheeks. “We can be a family again, and grow the family!”
“How?” Marcela asked, but Headmistress Lillian already had a purple can of Pop Fizz in her hand, and was holding it up to the near-woman.
“Drink,” she said. “You must. If you wish, I can make this a hypnotic sugges-”
“No,” Marcela said instantly. “Dios mio, I can’t believe this. It’s so wrong. So fucking wrong. But I want this. God, I want this. Why do I want it?”
“Because it gives your life meaning,” Headmistress said. “A meaning it never had before. You tried to fill it with drugs, sex, and criminality. Now, you will be filled with life.”
Marcela found herself moaning. The sheer anticipation of it. The idea that she might grow a child within her. She couldn’t escape it.
She took the can, opened it, and gave only a moment’s hesitation. Just a brief moment where her old male self tried to fight this final embrace of the change.
And then she drank it down in one great series of gulps, just as Amira had, only with far greater willingness.
“Ohhhhh!” she moaned mere moments later. “Yesss! Nnghh! I can f-feel it! Dios mio, I can f-feel it!”
“Embrace it!” the Headmistress said. “Your parents are watching! Let them meet the new you, Marcela. Don’t be ashamed as your friend Amira was. You are one of our greatest successes. Embrace it!”
Marcela moaned again, gasping in relief as her final changes came over her. Her bust, already very impressive E-cups in size, expanded to full F-cups, large melons that were pert and round upon her chest, ripe and jiggly. The kind of breasts that a husband would obsess over, that could easily feed twins and have milk to spare. Her hips expanded, creaking audibly, and her culo grew as well, becoming rondure and soft. But the greatest change was between her thighs, of course. Her vestigial remnant of a penis finally pulled back into her body, inverting and forming a deep passage into her figure. She gasped, lowering a hand to feel herself, uncaring that her dress was likely to get wet from her juices. She could always clean it. Hell, she could buy another. So many others.
“Mhmmm!” the new woman moaned. “Oh G-God! Se siente tan bien! It feels so good! Yes! Finish the ch-change! Make me a woman! I want to be a housewife! I want to belong to a man and be a good woman! Yesssss!”
The changes finished, leaving her breathless, hungry for air. Above, Marcela’s parents watched her, pleased at the birth of their new daughter, who already desired to birth them grandchildren into the world.
The Headmistress simply smiled, self-satisfied. In the end, for this one, the brainwashing hadn’t even been truly necessary.
To Be Continued . . .