Addicted to Womanhood 1

by Zoe Brown

  I was a woman. All woman. A beautiful, sexy, sensual young woman… at last.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Ohhhhh… fuck me sideways…” I moaned with deep sensuality, some thirty seconds later, as the elevator’s descent finally began to slow and my ride began to come to an end – just over four minutes since I’d first stepped inside. “I’m a girl." Then I laughed, happily, delighted to hear myself say it out loud in my new, foxy, feminine voice. I had only just barely started to recover from the overwhelming typhoon of sensual pleasure that had hammered into me at the end of my transformation, when my new womanhood had finally completed its flowering genesis within me, and I’d climaxed so hard that it had actually knocked me off of my feet. Now I was sitting exhaustedly on the floor of the elevator, laughing in a rich, warm, feminine soprano and happily cupping my new, large, round D-cup breasts in my delicate, feminine hands, enjoying the erotic aftershocks still radiating through my flat, girlishly-empty (save for the outer labia and mound of my new womanhood) new crotch.

  “I’m a girl… yes… god… fuck yes, I’m a girl…” I grinned and panted, ecstatic and overjoyed, hugging my new body and, if possible, looking forward to the rest of the weekend even more now than I had been just minutes before.

  If only Ashton Rhodes 's employees could see him – err, me – Ashley, now.

  Bleep!

  The executive elevator reached the sub-basement level of the garage beneath the spire of Rhodes Tower just moments later and bleeped to alert its passenger, a quiet conclusion to a – mechanically speaking – quiet five-minute ride which, from the passenger’s perspective, had been anything but quiet.

  The elevator doors remained closed initially after arrival, in the interests of Executive privacy, for which I was once again grateful to my building’s engineers. Still feeling the effects of my overwhelming final orgasm in legs that were not quite yet steady on their newly smaller, more feminine feet just yet, I slid up the side of the car behind me and sat my nearly naked, newly female body on the bench at the rear the elevator, taking care not to sit in or on any of the ‘wet spots’ where my cum had spurted. I was still softly panting for breath, trying to recover from my orgasm-drenched transformation into my beautiful, young female alter ego. There wasn’t much to really be concerned about down here on the sub-basement level of the parking garage, as far as privacy went, as only the CEO’s private garage and a handful of maintenance access shafts and work tunnels were located on this level, but I was still grateful that the elevator’s engineers had afforded me that extra bit of privacy by leaving the doors on a manual control. The last thing I wanted to deal with today was some grubby, greasy member of my maintenance crew catching a glimpse of the beautiful, naked girl sitting spread eagle on the couch of Rhodes Multinational’s private, CEO-exclusive elevator, amongst the cast offs of that same CEO’s clothing and small pools of his semen, and still wearing his socks.

  At least, I don’t really want that… I thought to myself with a sly smile, indulging my slightly exhibitionist fantasies for just a moment before I shoved them away. No, I didn’t really want that, as sexy as the idea of being ‘caught’ might seem in my crotch-soaked, pussy-still-humming, post-orgasmic buzz. There were questions about my female alter-ego and my weekend gender switching activities that I really, really didn’t want to ever be put in the position of actually having to answer in front of anyone who worked in this building. Just the thought of being exposed – really exposed, not ‘caught’ in a sexy, naughty exhibitionist fantasy with no repercussions – still sent shivers of fear and shame piercing through my heart. As much as I hoped to enjoy my part-time girldom this weekend, I had no desire to ruin the life and reputation that I had built for myself as a man for a pair of tits and an ass, even if they happened to be mine for the moment.

  And thinking of my weekend’s activities, I should get moving on those if I want to make it to Santa Cruz before dinner time. Santa Cruz was the lively, beach-resort destination spot on the California coast that I’d picked for my outing this weekend: it was a quaint, ‘fun’ little coastal town, about an hour and something south of San Francisco, and more of a fun, relaxing place to ‘chill’ and get used to my new, female body (and to hopefully meet hot, eligible partners to explore that new body with) than a real party town like I was usually drawn to for my weekend getaways, but on Violetta’s advice ‘chill’ had been what I had aimed for when it came to picking my destination for my first outing ‘en femme’ – better to take the time to really get to know the new ‘girl me’ before I let myself get carried away with some serious clubbing or extreme sports activities, decide if I was really comfortable as a girl or not, if I felt safe around strangers in my new body, before plunging myself into a metaphorical mosh-pit of social interaction in a place like Los Angeles, Long Beach, Malibu, or Vegas.

  There was just one little errand that I needed to run on my way out of the city first though, before I could get on the highway and really kick the speed up a notch on my ride. Sighing, I reached my new, slender, beautiful arms above my head, enjoying the limberness, lack of stiffness, and absence of arthritic pain that transforming into my new, much younger female body had gifted me. But despite needing to get it in gear, it still took the me a few minutes to recover enough mobility to really get moving after my first several mind-shattering, body-altering orgasms of the weekend – and hopefully not the last, I giggled inwardly.

  Stretching out my new, long, gloriously delicious legs, I climbed to my feet and flexed my new body out from head to toe, enjoying the tug and sway of my breasts on my chest, the bounce of my new curves with every step and movement. I turned to the black leather women’s backpack sitting on the cushioned seat beside me, next to ‘Ashton's’ discarded jacket, tie, and dress shirt, and untied the flap at the top. Then reaching inside of the bag, I fished around for a moment inside and withdrew the black, floral-patterned-lace thong and equally black sports bra that I’d packed for myself this morning, before leaving for work.

  Since there was no way that I could have known exactly what sizes my new female body would require after my first transformation from male to female was complete, when I’d prepared for this – my first outing as a young woman – I’d decided that I needed to be somewhat careful not to go on a spending splurge beforehand and buy just anything sexy that I came across when I was shopping online at Amazon for the ‘female starter kit’ that I’d assembled in the bag sitting beside me now. There was fair chance that any object of clothing purchased online before I had a chance to really get my new curves measured might not fit after my transformation – a size 32 B bra was a lot smaller than a size 36D chest, for example. Fortunately, Werewoman, like ‘Aphrodite’ before it, was designed to turn men into a very specific kind of beautiful woman – a ‘glamour-model’ woman who hovered around average female height, with full and generous curves for her size but nothing in excess of, say, a 40-inch hips or bust measurement. Variant-formula pills that were designed to give men more generous curves or different body types all together did exist, of course, but neither Jade (who had sold the pills to me) nor Brianna (who had taken several of the pills in front of me) had appeared to possess any physical characteristics outside of what the baseline Werewoman formula offered. Thus, it had seemed safe for me to assume that whatever my – or Ashley’s – sizes would be after I became her, I could be reasonably sure that they would fall somewhere between a ‘small’ and a ‘medium,’ so I’d gone with ‘small’ panties (taking a wild guess, after having spent a few nights with two different Werewomen who both wore small-sized panties) and a medium size sports bra with high support – at least no matter what size my new breasts had turned out to be, I wouldn’t be completely unsupported, and even if the panties or sports bra were on the tight size, I would only have to wear them for a couple of hours before I could find some replacements in Santa Cruz.

  After pulling off ‘Ashton’s’ socks, I used the bunched up material to wipe the remaining traces of sem
en and spunk off of the insides of my thighs, making a mental note to remember the ejaculating aspect of Werewoman transformations in the future. Then, once my thighs and pelvis were clean and not sticky any longer, I stepped into the thong, drawing the sexy, feminine piece of underwear slowly up my legs, thoroughly enjoying the brush of lace against the soft, sensitive insides of my new, silken, feminine thighs as I pulled them up, and then moaned softly with delighted pleasure as the crotch of the panties cupped my newly flat, feminine crotch, pubic mound, and labia, running the fingers of one of my soft, smaller feminine hands over the crotch and watching in the reflection of the doors as the gorgeous young brunette girl reflected back at me physically explored the new shape of her definitively female crotch through the new, black lacy panties that she’d just donned as well. Fuck, this is so hot… I purred inwardly, surprised and delighted to discover that my internal monologue had taken on the same pitch and tone as ‘Ashley’s female voice, now that I was ‘her.’ Had that happened subconsciously? I wondered.

  I continued to caress my new, lace-pantied female crotch for a moment longer, then sighed happily and straightened up, tossing my dark hair back over my shoulder again, grinning and posing in the reflective sheen of the elevator doors like a glamour model, naked from head to toe except for the panties and cupping my full, firm breasts in my hands for a minute before I released them, then sliding my hands up and down my perfectly curved hourglass shape, from my wide, rounded hips, across my slender, hourglass waist and up to my firm, full bust. Jesus, I’m so fucking gorgeous! I crowed in my mind, beaming both inside and out, Eat your heart out, Amy Cho!

  I grabbed the bra next and tugged it on over my head, then rolled it down over and fit it around my new, bountiful chest, settling my beautiful new breasts securely before I reached back into the backpack for the rest of my outfit. Having decided to just ‘make do’ with whatever would likely fit me (regardless of what sizes Ashley’s new body actually wound up sporting) I had packed only some tight, stretchy clothing that I could be relatively sure would fit me no matter the results of my feminization. I smoothed a pair of shiny black leggings (also size small) up my long, sensuously flowing legs, allowing myself a little moan of pleasure as I tugged them up over my full thighs. I would never have worn anything like this as a man! I loved how tight and smooth and sexy they looked over my new curves, especially once I got them tugged up to my waist, stretched across the newly expanded curves of my now-womanly hips and posterior, and highlighting the newly-flat, empty, gently sloping profile of my feminized crotch. No one would mistake me for a man while I was wearing these, and that thought thrilled me to no end. In fact, it actually turned me on a little – well, turned me on more. Being honest, I was still pretty damp down below from the sexiness of my first transformation, and getting to doll myself up for the first time immediately thereafter was just drawing out a very lengthy, very delicious semi-aroused feeling that I was completely loving – even if the sensation of having a slightly ‘wet’ vagina was vaguely distracting at times.

  I followed the leggings with a snug-fitting, slightly-stretchy ‘medium’ satiny button-up blouse in a deep burgundy color, which I left untucked over my leggings. The snug-fit of the blouse emphasized my new breasts (despite the fairly minimizing effect of the sports bra) and the hourglass curves of my waist delightfully, though it was a bit awkward to put on, with all the buttons reversed. Finally, the outfit was completed with the short, trendy leather jacket that had been folded up on the bottom of the bag, but I set that item aside for a moment.

  After a wiggling my way into the rest of the get up, especially the shiny black leggings (damn but I looked good in them) I reached back into the bag one last time for the final two items that I’d been able to squeeze inside this morning before I left for work: a black leather over-the-shoulder purse and a pair of black, suede knee-high boots with two-inch heels. Inside the purse, which I planned to wear under the short, stylish leather jacket, was a burgundy women’s wallet which, for the moment, contained only the ten $500 dollar Visa Gift/Debit cards that I’d purchased for ‘my cousin’ in the name of ‘Ashley Rhodes’, a thick white envelope containing ten grand in cash, a hair brush, a small pack of wet wipes (a suggestion from Jade, which I hadn’t quite worked out yet), a small can of pepper spray (hey, even temporary girls need to be careful), a small pack of condoms (again, better safe than sorry!), a little bottle of Black Orchid by Tom Ford, one of my favorite perfumes for women, and most of the basic makeup items that I would need for a weekend away, bought brand-new over the internet on Amazon.

  As with the clothing sizes, I hadn’t known exactly what shades and styles of makeup I would need, since I’d never applied makeup before, OR been a girl before, but when I’d texted Jade late one night a week ago for advice, she’d suggested buying a bunch of cheap cosmetics in a variety of shades similar to my natural skin and eye colors – the female version of myself would probably wind up not too dissimilarly colored, since we shared the same genes. I could replace them later with more expensive products once I discovered what my actual colors were. For that reason, I’d picked up several foundations that ranged in hues from soft ivory to beige, with powders to match, waterproof, black satin mascara (hey at least with that I didn’t have to worry about the color), similarly black eyeliner, several glossy red lips colors in shades that ranged from deep wine colors to just-south-of-firetruck reds, an assortment of blush to match them, and then three different ‘eyeshadow’ palettes – one each for blue, brown, and green eyes. The little purse was fairly bulging with all of its contents. Fortunately, though, now that I’d finally gone and got my girl on, I could afford to lighten the load a little bit.

  Pulling some of the cosmetics out now, I slowly and carefully applied a light layer of foundation in a soft-ivory shade that matched my new, softer skin. I had never applied makeup before, and was careful and watchful for any mistakes. However, having studied dozens of makeup-application video tutorials on Youtube these past several weeks, as well as watched Violetta apply her makeup more than once or twice in that same period, I made a fairly decent show of things, and didn’t have to correct more than a handful of tiny errors. I was nothing if not observant and detail-oriented – it wasn’t like I’d acquired my fortune through dumb luck or simple ‘hard work’.

  I followed the foundation with a light covering of powder, and a slow and careful coat of mascara, for my longer, thicker eyelashes – and I loved the effect that had on my eyes – it brought them out even more dramatically than they already appeared. But then after the mascara I paused, taking a deep breath and glancing at my reflection in the small makeup compact that I’d stuffed into the purse along with the rest of my cosmetics earlier today, before I left for work. I was getting to the harder part now, and I wanted to be sure I got things just right, so I studied my newly feminized, beautified face for a few minutes in the little hand-held mirror, getting to know what ‘Ashley’ looked like, and quite enjoying the view.

  The lovely girl I had become looked to be somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-five, if I was any judge – young enough to still be in college or graduate school; old enough (with the right ID) to drink. To my delight, I found that I had retained the brilliant blue irises that had made my old male face so dazzlingly handsome. Though I was now barely even recognizable as anything other than a distant relative of Ashton’s, I was pleased to see that the striking blue of Ashton’s eyes had seamlessly been transformed into the piercing, poignant blue of Ashley’s. On the other hand, I was surprised to see how much darker my brows and my hair had become. There was something, I don’t know, maybe a little Eastern European about the look of my face now, with its pale skin, thick dark hair, and fine, thin, delicately-arched matching eyebrows. Romanian maybe, or possibly Lithuanian, maybe even Russian? The faces of numerous beautiful, dark-haired models, actresses, and celebrities that I knew of with Eastern-European heritage, such as Inna, Eliza Dushku, Nina Dobrev, and Mila Kunis flashed through my mind as
I tried to place the features I was seeing. Yeah, there was something there. It intrigued me – I hadn’t known that anyone in my family tree had hailed from Eastern Europe, but the very beautiful, very elegant feminine features looking back at me definitely pointed in that direction – to my very serious delight. I was beautiful. Ravishing, actually.

  Alright, alright, I chided myself, remembering the time crunch that I was under if I wanted to make it to Santa Cruz before dinner time, stop gawking at your hot new self, ‘young lady,’ and finish putting your makeup on.

  Taking a deep breath, I carefully drew on a light application of black eyeliner, quickly and ruefully discerning the mistake I’d made in having applied mascara first, but not really being able to do much about it now. I spread a barely-there bit of eyeshadow in a few, modestly-well-blended shades from navy blue to shimmering silver, over my eyelids and up to my eyebrows (careful not to obscure my eyeliner and rolling my eyes inwardly about how out of order my makeup application had been today, making a commitment to myself to do it better the next time), and then finished by carefully adding a deep, glossy Merlot shade of lip color to my lips (it took a couple of tries to get it right – the lip color ran a lot more easily than any of the other makeup I was wearing – and a light highlighting of a matching blush to the apples and tops of my cheeks before I packed the cosmetics away. Taking one final look into my compact, I was delighted – and slightly aroused, again – to see how well I’d done with my rushed makeup job, and only after limited study. I mean, it wasn’t exactly an ‘airbrushed’ look and no one would be inviting me to perform cosmetology on them any time soon, but I looked good! I looked like a foxy, sexy glamour model who’d done her own makeup for the day – just as I’d intended.